High Hopes Down
by Va Vonne
Summary: "Draco was sure it was over- positive- could even feel the life rush out of his body before making absolutely certain of it. Was this it? Was this what dying felt like?" The survivors of the Wizard War undergo therapy in attempts to start over.
1. Prologue: Severance

**Vonne: **I originally planning on deleting my account- and I did. But, as it seems I couldn't take the long hiatus from writing, I came crawling back. So, this is the first of hopefully a line of many well-liked fictions. Please review and send me as much feedback as you'd like. I love hearing from you, as always. Oh, and since you never get enough of a summary from the front of the site, I included a slightly elongated one here.

**Summary: **After the war at Hogwarts, the survivors are sent off to therapy until they are concluded fit to survive and thrive in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds. But as Harry, Ron, Hermione, Malfoy, and countless others take part in both individual and group therapy, they begin to notice that maybe the horror hasn't quite ended.

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**Chapter One**

**Severance **

The curtains were drawn that evening as the sun fell down for its rest. Calmly breathing, the plump man seated behind his Victorian-style desk made quite sure that the door to the room was shut before turning to overlook the papers in front of him. However, despite his greatly needed privacy, he was not alone. Watched by the eyes of those in the moving photographs at his desk, the man admittedly felt slightly uneasy. On his rather messy desk, the man shifted his nametag that read: Boyce Ashby. With a whisk of his left hand, the candle on his right abruptly lit itself up and cast an orange light down on the paperwork.

The first picture stood out to him greatly and, lifting it, he gazed upon the weary smile that rest upon the subject's face. Harry James Potter was covered in dirt and dried blood, though despite the mess it was his lightening bolt scar that stood out to the man the most. In the photograph he swayed, slightly drunk with adrenaline, as a wave of photographers snapped away in his direction. He looked distant, despite his smile and, as the photograph's motion drew to a close, he pulled away from the frame towards a restless looking group of redheads. The file underneath the photograph read: _"Born July 31__st__ of 1980, Mr. Potter's ordeal over the past eighteen years of his life have been kept fairly secretive up until the past couple years when it was revealed to the public of the Wizarding World that the Dark Lord Voldemort had, indeed, returned." _The squat man, with his glasses at the end of his fat nose, leaned in closer towards the flickering candle light. _"Since the defeat of the Dark Lord, Mr. Potter's personal life has been kept quite quiet, as well, much to his own request. However, while many report that his secret life has been successful and peaceful, it has not stopped the recent recommendations of therapy."_

It would have been foolish of his to say that he hadn't heard of the famous Harry Potter and his glorious victory against Voldemort, who's name had only just become safe to utter. And, of course, he had heard. Mr. Potter, naturally, had been quite an interest of his however, not any more so than the others that were filed out in front of him.

Brunette and smiling, the pretty picture of a slender and smiling Hermione Jean Grander was a friendly one, despite the circumstances surrounding it. Also as messy as Harry Potter's photograph, Hermione's face bore several cuts, scrapes, and bruises. She smirked happily in the picture, though something behind her eyes signified she was gone. Silently, she mouthed something to someone out of frame as her smile slowly faded and, from Mr. Ashby's standpoint, it looked like she'd said, "We've finally ended this fight." Her file said, _"Since the battle at Hogwarts several months ago, Ms. Hermione Granger has spent half of her time in the Muggle World visiting her parents, Eric and Lydia Granger, both dentists (those who fix and examine teeth) in the Muggle World. However, her time spent in the Wizarding World is lived around the home of the Weasley's. Seemingly, while she is very rarely seen in public, she is noted to be distant, forlorn, and disconnected with reality."_

There was a knock at his door as he shuffled through the files, eyeing two particularly freckle-faced redheads. Dismissing his work, he looked up only with his piercingly blue eyes and called, "Yes?"

"Ashby!" Came a quiet yell, or one as quiet as a yell can be, "Ashby, are you in there?"

"Yes," Mr. Ashby replied, who suspiciously slid his glasses higher upon his nose.

"Ashby," whispered the voice on the other side of the door, "it's Mort. May I come in?"

"Mr. Irwin," Ashby said with a sigh of relief. He calmly collected his papers back together, the gangly redheads resting on top, "I'm working." However, the door slipped open anyway and a tall, slender man stood in the doorframe. He was frowning as he pulled on his olive green tie and, anxiously, he stepped forward with curiously wandering eyes. "Oh," he said with a hiccup of a voice, "are you reviewing the copy of the files I left for you several nights ago?" Ashby nodded because it was, in fact, true. However, unknown to Mr. Irwin, Ashby had been reviewing the original files for many months on end, long before this moment in his office. "Ah," Irwin said, his frown still very much present, "the Weasley brothers. Such a tragedy about what happened to that one of the twins. Percy, was it?"

"Fred," Ashby growled. "Fred Weasley was killed in the battle at Hogwarts grounds." He resumed his place overlooking the photographs. "Percy Weasley has refused to take any therapy sessions with me. In fact, most of the Weasley's have been quite private, except these two and their sister, Ginny. I much appreciate their willingness to move through their…"

"Trauma," Irwin suggested.

"Indeed. That." He once again gave the standing man a hard look. "Now, if you don't mind—"

"Oh!" Irwin took several steps backwards, his fiddling fingers moving in fast paced motions, "my apologizes. I _do_ have a reason for my visit, nonetheless."

Ashby's bitter patience was running slightly thin, "and what is it, then?"

"Well, the patients are here," Irwin flinched, backing slightly towards the door. "They're out in the waiting room," he added, "the whole lot."

Suddenly Ashby's annoyance faltered. "Alright," he muttered, "give me a minute." Eyeing Irwin until he fully reached the door and whipped it open, Ashby waved him away, "let them know I'll be ready in a short notice."

"Er— will do. Mr. Ashby, should I----"

"Yes. Now, please, Mort." And, instantly, Ashby was once again left alone in his dark office. He dropped his head back down to the two brothers, arm slung around one another, eyes red and puffy. He anxiously pulled the photograph of Ginny Weasley out from underneath the rest. _"The Weasley siblings, after having suffered such tragic loss, have tried to pull much of their own back together after the battle that killed Voldemort. Since the death of Fred Weasley, a previous graduate from Hogwarts School, the three siblings' agreement to participate in therapy was brought on by their mother, Molly, who suffered greatly from the loss herself. It has been noted that George, twin to the deceased Weasley boy, hasn't spoken much since his brother's passing. However, this vow of silence does not rest with George; Ginny and Ronald Weasley have been described as equally distraught."_

A slight chill went up Mr. Ashby's spine. Heaving one last sigh, Ashby slid himself up from the table and pushed the puzzling photographs in a messy pie on his desk. As he stepped away, however, one photograph, attached to a long file, fell to the ground before Ashby's own feet.

Draco Malfoy, son of the infamous Malfoys, did not look entirely present in his photograph and Ashby had to bend down to a full squat to examine it completely. Lucius' son, nephew to Belatrix Black, concentrated his eyes on his shoes. His blond hair was matted with dried blood and his face was dripping with what probably wasn't sweat. Perched on his shoulder was the boney hand of his father and Draco winced at every camera flash. The file on the Malfoy boy said, _"It is apparent that Draco Malfoy has suffered from severe depression since the battle at Hogwarts took place. He has been spotted, though rarely, at his new and private home away from the city. Currently, he resides with his parents and has been said to rarely venture from his bedroom."_

Ashby lifted the photo as a the cameras flashed in Malfoy's pale face.

_Flash!_ The boy's piercing eyes flinched behind his curtain of messy blond hair that, with his head hung as low as it was, covered his eyes.

_Flash!_ Malfoy exchanged glances with his father's white hand.

_Flash! _The picture stopped as the young Malfoy's face shone with water and he once again dropped his head to examine his shoes.

"Mr. Ashby!" Came Irwin's quivering voice. "Mr. Ashby, you have some very nice people waiting to meet you." Ashby glanced up. Nice. What a simple way to describe a group of distant trauma survivors. With another wave of his hand, he set the candle out on his desk and headed through the great frame that was his door.

And while there was no flash, Ashby felt himself leading his way to his own beginning.

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**Vonne- **Reviews are always appreciated. I promise, this fiction IS NOT about Ashby or Irwin. This just served as an introduction for you all. I hope you did enjoy what was given so far.


	2. Luck

**Vonne: **I didn't realize how short the first chapter was. Really. It was three pages long on my Word document and once it came up on the page didn't seem hardly any longer than a couple paragraphs. Really? And while short story chapters really bother me, hopefully, I'll try and make this one very much longer. Summary is still included at the bottom of this update.

Please note that the remained of the story, apart from the first part of this chapter, takes place in the character's point of view. Eh, on the other hand, I'll make a note of it so it doesn't get confusing.

**Summary: **After the war at Hogwarts, the survivors are sent off to therapy until they are concluded fit to survive and thrive in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds. But as Harry, Ron, Hermione, Malfoy, and countless others take part in both individual and group therapy, they begin to notice that maybe the horror hasn't quite ended.

**Chapter Two**

**Lucky**

Standing at the end of the hallway, Ashby felt like an angry child with a microscope and he breathlessly took a new look at his new bunch of ants. Staring at their faces, Ashby's mind flickered with the headlines he had studied so thoroughly over and over again. It wasn't as if he had expected the glamour that the papers seemed to report because, as a therapist, he'd come to expect such a disappointment. However, these kids, these shells of people, their faces lacked anything he could put his finger on. They sat in a row, all but the Malfoy boy, and raised their heads as he entered, muttering quiet little hellos. "Well, hello." Ashby tried a smile and instantly regretted it, considering the circumstances. He continued with his ramblings, as confident as always, "Harry Potter, I presume."

He didn't have to presume what he already knew. Harry, looking over the rims of his own glasses, nodded responsively and tossed him a simply sad smile. "I'd be surprised if you didn't know who I was," Harry said, honestly, however his statement was not that of a boast. Eyebrows raised, Harry's look served as a polite way that he truly did want to cut out the bullshit. Ashby only held his smile however, quite the professional, and continued his scan of those in front of him. He nodded at Hermione Granger, who rest her head sweetly on the young Weasley's shoulder. Next to him, George sat close, his eyes elsewhere.

"Ms. Granger," Ashby greeted the pretty young brunette. "Ronald, George." While neither of the three responded, Ashby's face didn't flicker. "And, of course, Mr. Malfoy." At the sound of his name, the blond at the far end of the room looked up and locked eyes with the plump excuse for a therapist. "I'm glad you've all agreed to share yourselves with me at this ward." Their suitcases rest flopped around their ankles, all but eager. "If you don't mind, I'd like to begin as soon as possible. I'm aware you've all had your time to bid your families a farewell. Temporarily, of course."

"Yes," Came a slightly jagged voice from the seat that belonged to Ginny Weasley, her hand wrapped so tightly in Harry's hand, her knuckles had turned pale white. "We're fine, Mr. Ashby, thank you." However, despite her words of gratitude, her tone seemed oddly heated.

"Yes," Ashby agreed. "This is Mr. Mort Irwin. If you just follow him down this corridor, he will show you to your rooms." All but Draco looked up at Irwin, the stick of a man, who smiled nervously as he stepped aside. They obliged without another word, picking up their bags and slugging after him down the hallway. And, walking, Ashby made his first aim towards Harry Potter. "Hello, Mr. Potter," he said as he placed his hand half-heartedly on Harry's broad shoulder. "Do you mind following me for a while?" In front of Harry, Ginny tossed him a worried look to which Harry responded back with a reassuring smile.

"Harry?" She called, looking at Ashby.

"Oh, don't worry, Ms. Weasley, Mr. Potter will be alright." And by the boy's own shoulders, he spun him around with a little smile. "I'm going to start my sessions off with you today, Mr. Potter," he said as he led him through the door to the right, the passing shadows of Ron, Hermione, George, and Ginny slinking by. Malfoy's lingering shadow would just barely miss Harry as he disappeared through the doorway.

"Yes," Harry said, standing in the ironically gloomy room, "it's quite alright, Mr. Ashby, and, please, it's Harry. Just Harry, is fine."

"Oh, of course." Ashby said and, swiftly, he took his seat. "And how are you today, Harry Potter?"

Harry's face flickered. "Fine. Look, I've been through therapy before and I know how these sort of things work. Mr. Ashby, I'm sure you of all people know that I'm not here to mess around with small talk." Admittedly, Ashby hadn't considered this sort of response. He let his head fall to one side and, with a sorry sigh, shuffled the papers on his desk top. Harry Potter, barely weeks over the rip old age of eighteen, flashed Ashby a fake and sarcastic smile.

Ashby considered all this. His eyes locked with Harry's, he said rather patiently, "Alright, Harry. Start from the beginning."

**Harry Potter's POV:**

I'd seen it before with therapists, they're one and the same. Well, Mr. Ashby, here's what I have to say, "I've seen death. Too many times. How does it make me feel? Well, I couldn't quite answer that because, as of lately, I feel numb." But, alas, I say none of this to Ashby. Additionally, I don't say, "Now bugger off."

This fellow, this Ashby fellow, he is sitting cross-legged with a notebook floating a few inches in front of him, a quill jotting down notes already. Perfect. Have I truly made that much of a first impression? "Please," Ashby starts again and slowly, I regret firing up my temper so soon. "Harry, if you please, I'd like to hear your side of everything that happened that night." I feel my shoulders sinking as I watch Ashby in front of me. From what I've been told he is only trying to help, only trying to make all _this_…go away.

"It began," I started, "when it ended." And this was true.

"What do you, Harry, consider the end?" Ashby asks me and I try to think back to the end.

"When I saw the bodies," I say, partly for the reaction I'm expecting to get. However, when Ashby's face all but flickers, my face falters to a more serious glare and he can tell that what I've said, despite my temper, is true.

"Do you feel that you're at fault?" Ashby asks me without any movement of his face and, really, I consider this accusation. My fault, no; I had, nonetheless, tried to push this thought out of my mind for many weeks now. I had reached a conclusion on my thoughts for all the death and destruction. However, maybe it was the wimpy way out of passing the blame. When I shake my head, denying all fault for it all, Ashby asks me point blankly, "How _do_ you feel about all of this tragedy?"

And, here is was- my passive conclusion. "It wasn't my fault. But it was my responsibility." Ashby and I, we play a staring game. Behind his blank stares, this therapist is trying to figure me out. I wonder to myself if he can tell what I'm thinking. Suddenly the quill and parchment move rhythmically in the air in front of him and a lump forms intensely in my throat.

"Would you call yourself a hero?"

I hate this question and, more over, I hate this title I have so often been given. "I'd consider the victory to be pure luck." That was me, Mr. Lucky. I am no hero, I have earned no celebrity.

"Listen, Harry," Ashby says as the quill draws to a stop, "do you mind recapping your ordeal for me? I'd love to hear it and I really think—"

I stammer, "Er— I'd rather….no. I mean, not now, anyways."

Ashby's eyebrow lifts up slowly and a new smile now forms on his face. He doesn't say sorry, but he's morphs his face to signify that he was not about to put any pressure on me, and I liked that. "No worries, Mr. Potter," he says against my request for simply 'Harry', "you'll open up when you're ready to."

"Thanks," I say blinking, "I guess."

"So," Ashby says, his stature changing. Nicely, he slumps into a more relaxed position in his chair. I am quite aware that this is more likely a therapeutic trick of the mind, but I fairly fancy the gesture. "How do you like the place from what you've seen so far?"

"Oh," I say, swallowing, "Wonderful, thank you."

"How do you think your friends are going enjoy living here? Do you think Ms. Granger, the Weasleys and Mr. Malfoy are going to---"

Regrettably, I all but growled, "Malfoy is not my friend."

"Oh, excuse me." Ashby nodded, taking the glasses off of his face. Without them, he looked as ordinary as ever. His wasp-like mess of thinning hair stood like dim straw in the lack of light and his eyes, piercing and blue, were the only interesting thing about him. Flashing, they resume their gaze on my own face. "I was unaware that you and Mr. Malfoy did not see eye to eye."

"Not at all," I admit. And the two of us fall quiet again.

I've been to many therapists before, however without Ginny, Hermione, and the other Weasleys. They're all the same and, honestly, I see no difference between Mr. Irwin Ashby and the rest of the lot. Ginny, as we packed up this morning, had said to me, "Give him a chance." She'd said, "Don't you want this to end? Don't you want to put all this behind us and live a normal life?" She'd kissed my forehead, grabbed my hand, and kept a smile on her face. For her, I decide as I stare at the man, I'll give this bloke a chance.

"Well, Harry," Ashby says, leaning forward, "I'll let you get settled, then. I'm sorry that this session was so short, I've got a lot to cover and—"

"No," I interrupt, "it's quite fine." And it was.

A soft smile crosses his face and, nodding, he motions towards the door saying, "the dormitories are to your left. Do you need helping finding them?"

"No, I'll be alright. Thank you." I head for the door and give this man one last nod. His eyes catch the light and I shut the door quietly behind me. Around me now is that dim hallway of the therapy center.

Ginny had said, "Harry, please give this a chance." She'd said, "I'll be right here with you." But now, standing in the hallway, I feel very much alone.

"Harry!" Ginny says when I enter the living quarters, sweaty from the walk around the center. Even after having found my way through Hogwarts, I am surprised at how lost I had been. She looks beautiful, as distressed as she is, and in her robe, I know that she is really all I've ever wanted. Hermione and Ron smile from their seats by the fireplace and, nodding, I'm glad that they're here with me. Malfoy, he is nowhere in sight. "How was it?" Ginny whispers, softly in my ear.

"Short," I whisper back and, gratefully, Ginny smiles. "Have you seen Malfoy?"

"Nope," Ron says, his hand on top of Hermione's. Nudging her with his nose, Ron says, "last we saw him, he'd went through his room door and hasn't come out ever since." I like this fact and, secretly, I hope he stays put.

"How was it, mate?" Ron asks like Ginny.

"How was Ashby?" Hermione continues off of Ron. "I'd read up about him before I came. He's said to be fairly good, you know. I'd give him a chance." And there it goes again, more people telling me to give chances.

"I plan on it." I am only half telling the truth, but Ginny squeezes my hand and I remind myself of the importance. Ginny, resting her head on my slowly sinking shoulder, mouths her thanks.

Thanks. I've been getting a lot of gracious thanks lately.

I simply wonder if I deserve them.

In bed at night I dream of fire and burning bridges.

Someone is calling my name over and over in my head and, unconsciously, I fear that it is Ginny somehow trapped in the circling fire. In my nightmare I am running through the burning brush. The trees scream as I rush by them but my main focus is the call in the distance. "Harry!" It calls again and I am more anxious as ever to find its owner. There is a clearing in the burning forest and I stand in the middle, chest heaving and eyes watering. I am both watching myself and seeing through my eyes and I cannot tell if the part I am playing in my dream is myself or someone else. As my point of view switches off and on between the view above from the trees and the hazy view through my glasses, I try to listen close for the origin of the constant screams.

Something rushes by my right and I watch myself spin around desperately. "Hello?" I call out to the running ghost, "do you need help?" There is no answer back and I find that I am stuck in this circle of fire that has now formed around me. I feel cold ground underneath my feet and I wonder how this is possible. As I stand, helpless in the clearing, Ginny's screams grow louder and more desperate and all I can do is lay down in the middle of the fire pit. I curl up into a ball, trapped, hoping I can find some way out of this cage of fire.

The rushing shadow passes me again and, at last, I can see the flash of blond hair whisk past me and I know that it is Malfoy. I have no wand. I have no broom. I have nothing and all I can do I listen.

In my nightmare, I am not asleep long enough to watch from the trees as I burn to death. I am awake after it all, covered in sweat in the middle of the hallway, Ashby's eyes the fist thing I notice when I open my own. "Harry?" He says and, blinking, I cannot believe how fast my heart beats. "Harry are you okay? Have you had a bad dream?"

I don't respond but I let him place a plump hand around my heaving shoulders. And, while I stand at the opening of his office, I notice a messy blond head already inside the room. At the sight of me, the head lifts up, and instantly back down and Ashby watches me walk back down the hallway. In the distance I hear the door shut behind me and once again I am left in the dark.

**Vonne- **I love hearing reviews from you!! More as soon as possible.


	3. Haunt

**Vonne: **Thanks for the reviews. Sometimes I'll take the time to respond back to them personally. So, if you've left something for me, see if you can find your name below and hopefully I'll have fixed some things you may have found confusing in the last chapter.

**And Back Again-** Thank you! I'm really glad you're liking it so far. Yeah, I'd never heard of a fiction about therapy after their ordeal so I thought, "why not". As for the grammar tenses: they switch on purpose solely for the fact that I like present tense when writing in first person. So, when it is in first person, I'm writing in present tense. If I am writing in third person then I'm not writing in the point-of-view of any of the characters. Sorry if it's confusing. Hopefully you'll get used to it! Thanks again for the positive feedback!

**Rin5o- **Thanks so much! And, yeah, I just figured since Malfoy _was_ pretty close to being a Death Eater, committing murder, and all that jazz, that it would be pretty natural for him to be loathed. However, he really is one of my favorite characters and I love that little wimpy side he's got. It's just too adorable.

**These Trees Roll- **The way Harry got from his room to the hallway was because he was sleepwalking. Sorry if that bit was confusing. I probably should have explained that better. Anyways, thank you for the review! I love hearing such positive feedback.

**Dance For Air- **Aw. I know you didn't ask me anything but I really loved your comment. I love writing and I loved hearing that you loved it. Thank you!

If you have a question, feel free to ask away.

I hope you all can't tell that writing Harry is not my forte. It's not that I don't like Harry, because of course I do, he's just 100% not my favorite character like Draco and Ron are. So, while I sincerely hope you did enjoy what I wrote for Harry's perspective, I really like concentrating on Draco and Ron a lot, lot more. So, you'll be seeing more of that as this goes on. Anyway, once again the summary is below and I am so glad for all the reviews I've been getting. Thanks again.

Please note that the remainder of the story, apart from the first part of this chapter, takes place in the character's point of view. The notes will be there so it doesn't get confusing.

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**Chapter Three:  
Haunt**

"I trust," Ashby said, eyeing the pretty brunette who was hiding behind the pages of an old book, "that you had a good sleep last night? Hopefully better than your friend Mr. Potter." Ashby looked tired, as he usually did on mornings and, with his legs crossed, he leaned in too close for comfort near Hermione Granger. "I found him walking around the corridors last night looking slightly ill."

Hermione's instantly moved her face away from the book, setting it down. It was her journal and, for her own particular comfort, had stuck to re-reading the months' past entries. "Harry was up wandering?" Wrinkling her nose in a rather unsatisfied glare, she added, "he didn't tell me he was having trouble sleeping last night."

"Yes, well," Ashby informed her helpfully, "he made his way back to his bedroom rather silently. I was slightly busy when I heard him wandering about the center last night. Do you know, Ms. Granger, if Harry often has trouble sleeping?" Hermione's eyes wandered elsewhere, seemingly trying to figure out what had caused Harry Potter's late night troubles. However, Ashby was only just pleased to have her concentration, even if it was only a portion of it. Their session had begun about a half an hour ago and, finally, he was feeling as if he were just about getting somewhere.

"Harry sometimes, like the lot of us, frightens himself." She chose her words rather carefully however, as she seemed to smile as she continued, "its rather silly isn't it? Six eighteen year olds still having their nightmares."

Ashby's face took a serious turn, "It's not silly, Ms. Granger. It's actually rather common in those who have suffered from a traumatic ordeal." He was, of course, telling Hermione Granger something she had read about a long time ago but, with a polite smile on her face, she let him rattle on like a professional. "Would you like to tell me about some of your nightmares?" Ashby watched Hermione, who had changed from her pajamas to a pair of jeans and a rather dull colored sweater. She looked down and then back up, rather shamefully, and her face slightly flickered.

"They're silly," she admitted slowly. "But if you think they have some sort of meaning?"

"Oh, I do." Ashby said with a smile. "I consider dreams to tell very much about one's inner thoughts." This didn't do much to sooth Hermione's nerves, much to Ashby's dismay, however she nodded gratefully and placed her journal down neatly on her lap.

"Well," she said swallowing hard, "there's one reoccurring dream that I personally can't quite figure out for myself." Ashby's silence let her know that she should very much continue. "See," she said, lowering her shoulders, "Ever since…what happened…I've had some bit of—I guess you could call them paranoid thoughts." She smiled, obviously embarrassed. "It seems I've come to the conclusion that everyone is just going to drop dead around me." She glanced up at Ashby and shook her head, "it's silly, but ever since I've been seeing Ron, I feel like he's somehow going to...to…die."

"Ah," Ashby said, his smile dropping. "Does Mr. Weasley know about these fears you've been having?"

Hermione's face instantly reddened. "Of course not! Ronald, he's a worrier. And, to be honest, he might take my fears seriously. I don't want him thinking he is going to drop dead, too. I mean, these thoughts," she rambled, "they are just silly ideas. Just silly thoughts." Once again, Hermione looked down and, anxiously, fiddled with her simple little journal. "You won't tell him, would you?"

"I assure you, Ms. Granger," Ashby reminder her, "I am very serious about my patient's confidentiality. So," he said with another nod, "about your nightmares?"

"Oh, yes, well," Hermione removed a strand of hair from her face and when it fell back in front of her she did not bother removing it from her visage, "this one I've had quite often and in it I'm sleeping in my bed and Ron, he's sleeping on the floor. It feels so real, you know? I can just _feel_ his hand in mine, even though it is only a dream. And, every time- every time- I think it's real." Hermione added as she waved her hands aimlessly and shook her head, "in this dream, I can feel Ron's hand go from warm to cold and I look down over the edge of the bed and he's there, but he's motionless. And I get up and kneel down to look at him and he's looking at me, but he can't breath and he's gasping for breath and he's _watching _me. And, every time I have this nightmare, I never can find the strength to move. I can't do anything. I just watch him—I just watch him die." She shook her head and asked, "do you think this means anything?"

"I think," Ashby said, honestly, "that you feel helpless because of the horrible things you and your friends saw several weeks ago. And I think that, since it has been such a common thing over the past recent weeks, death is a natural fear to develop considering the circumstances. While I do not say things to anyone about other patients of mine I will tell you that you, Ms. Granger, are not alone in these fears."

"Thank you," Hermione said and afterwards she wasn't sure why she was so gracious. "It's not always Ron, you know," she lied to make herself sound slightly less obsessive. And, while she had several times dreamt about varieties of her friends' deaths, Ron had proved to be her main focus. Ashby however, only smiled sympathetically. "Well," she said, "is that all for today?"

With a slightly concerned glance Ashby said, "If you'd like it to be." And, just like that, Hemione sent him one last nod and headed out the door. However, there on the little chair rest her personal journal, alone and vulnerable. As a therapist, Ashby considered it quite unprofessional to go snooping around other people's stuff. However, as a professional, he also found it quite necessary to do so. Quietly, he made his way over to it. The first page, quite simply read: _"This book is property of Hermione Jane Granger. Do not open." _And since he was as nosy a most, he did exactly what the small book told him not to.

The flimsy little journal started as simple as most, dated only days after the battle. The writing was sloppy and scribbled, much to Ashby's surprise.

"_Dear Diary," _the entry started off, "_It has only been one full week after the battle at Hogwarts grounds and I'm starting to find myself as paranoid as ever." _Ashby settled himself on Hermione's seat, still warm from her presence, and yet again crossed his fat legs.

The journal read, "_I'm trying not to think about death, as it has been a rather bothersome thought, however I cannot seem to shake the morbidity that has so taken over my mind. I must make note of it, even if it is for myself to see, that I am not as depressed as I am confused. The dream I had last night was, like usual, about Ron again. He was bleeding in the middle of a shallow pond of water and all the while his eyes watched me. In the dream I was standing above him, wandless and helpless, doing nothing. _

_I cannot seem to grasp this sudden sense of uselessness that I very much attribute myself with. Even in my own dreams I cannot help myself of the ones I truly do love. I fear that my dreams are bringing out the worst of me. Unlike Ron, however, I am not vocal about my nightmares. Quiet honestly, Ron mentions his bad dreams to me every so often. I can tell he has them much more often than he lets on, however. He once said to me that he dreams about Fred and I cannot imagine what a toll this has taken on both Ron, George, Ginny, and the other members of his family." _

It was signed, however sloppily, and dated briskly at the top. Fumbling through more pages, Ashby's next finding was, if possible, more sloppy than the previous entry, the words scattered and scratched out as if she had been in a rush.

"_Dearest Diary," _she had scratched, _"I think Ron caught me last night, however, I am under the assumption that our findings our mutual because I think I have caught him too. He was in the kitchen with his arms sprawled out across the counter top, standing over the sink as if a guard. He was as pale as I'd ever seen him and he looked as if he hadn't slept at all. When he saw me, he didn't say anything and I actually had question ask myself if we'd been in a fight previously that night. In the morning I didn't mention the encounter and I think I chose not too because I had a nightmare too."_

Ashby set the book down and put it on his desk, all too aware that the Granger girl would come back to retrieve it as soon as she learned she'd forgotten it. He made his way back to his own desk, placed his notes on the top of it, and sipped from his cup of brandy he'd had waiting for him. At this point at least he'd felt he'd deserved it. However, at his slight moment of solitude there was a brisk knock at his door. "Who is it?" He said, rolling his blue eyes.

"Mr. Ashby," came the slightly muffled voice, "it's me, Hermione Granger. I've seem to have left my—"

"Journal. Ah, yes, come in." Ashby watched her emerge through the doorframe, quite honestly alarmed at how fast she'd noticed its absence. She strode forward to retrieve it from the top of his desk and with a simple smile made her way back to the door. "Ms. Granger," Ashby said before she disappeared once again, "we all have them, you know. Nightmares."

She gave him a slightly suspicious look and then, nodding, let her eyebrows fall back into place. Softly she whispered, "ah. Yes, thank you." And was gone from his office.

* * *

**Hermione's POV:**

That bastard read my journal.

Walking back from his office, my silly little journal tucked under my arm, I wonder why I'm not entirely angry about this invasion of my privacy. I should be utterly outraged but, truly, I am not anything over embarrassed and slightly relived. At least he knew, at least I didn't have to explain it to him myself. I swallow hard, thinking it slightly brilliant of me to keep a diary in the first place, my first thought of self-approval in a long while. And, with these thoughts in my mind, I was keen to find myself on a start towards thinking more positively.

"'Mione!" Comes a faint call and I find that I am in fact at the end of the hallway. Ron's smiling face greets me. It is a fake smile but I am happy to see that he is at least trying. One thing I've learned throughout the years is that, with Ron, if he is in fact pretending to be happy, then he sure as hell cares enough to fake it. "How'd you sleep last night?" He asks, "when I woke up, Harry told me you'd already left."

I smile, nudging him slightly, "Ronald, don't you find it funny that even with all that is going on in your mind, you still find the strength to sleep half the afternoon away?" Once again, Ron smiles and, noting this, I've forgotten all about dreams and how bad they've been. "How's your afternoon been, then, now that you've had the morning off?"

"Off?" Ron's face fell, "I may have not been in Ashby's office but I certainly haven't had the morning off."

"You haven't?" I tease him playfully.

And he says, "Oh no," with a little grin, "being as brilliant as I am. Hermione, it's a 24/7 job." I take his pajama collar and wrap my arms around his neck because, even in times as dark as they are, I've always loved his light. "Ouff, Hermione!" Ron said, reacting to my sudden embrace. He lifted me away, not being able to hide the smile on his face, "what's put you in such a good mood?"

"Oh, come off it, Ronald," I said letting go, "I'm always in a good mood." I back away from him, my arm the last thing to fall off of his shoulder, and I find myself feeling as confident as I'd felt back at Hogwarts. "Where are the others?" I ask, taking his hand as I had been doing every so often.

"Harry is still sleeping," Ron said shrugging, "he didn't get such a great sleep last night." My shoulders instantly sink. Out like a candle, my sudden burst of confidence rushes out of me as quickly as it came. Ron, like a sensor, seems to feel my suddenly gloomy aroma. He continues, however carefully. "George," he says slowly, "he's playing Wizard's Chess with Ginny. It's good for him, you know, playing like he used to with…" Ron swallows hard, "and, well, no one's seen Malfoy anyway."

Malfoy. I haven't thought much about him but when I do now, I can't help but struggle to keep my mouth shut. Among other things, I've recently tried to keep my opinions to myself. However, I do somehow manage to snort and Ron, chuckling slightly, squeezes my hand. It's not that I hold Malfoy accountable for the ordeal- because that was the doing of his horrible family. However, even in a time where I should be of forgiving nature, I can't help but keep this feeling of massive loathing.

I decide at once that this is all I want to think about one miserable Draco Malfoy.

Harry comes out from his own bedroom as we come up through the doorframe of the living room. He yawns, stretching his arms and tossing the lot of us an attractive smile. "Have a nice night, Harry?" I say, challenging him with a raise of my brow. At this, his own shoulders sink.

"No," he admits sloppily. "Apparently, I've been sleepwalking." He does, actually, look slightly a mess. I can tell he's only just topped off his scruffy appearance with his glasses; they rest slanted on the bridge of his nose. "Had a bad dream."

"About what?" Ginny asks, instantly worried.

"Nothing," Harry answers her, slightly defensive. However, noticing Ginny's hurt expression, he shakes his head. "Sorry, Gin," he said. "Sorry. Long night." He flops down on the seat next to his girlfriend and stares at the game of chess with a rather broad smile. "Well, look here!" I watch as he exchanges looks with me and Ron, "George, you're quite good at Wizard's Chess."

He looks up, smiling slightly. "Was taught," he says with a blank look in his eyes, "by the very best." And I feel Ron's hand slip out of mine. Curious, I watch Ron make his way over to the bar and pour himself a cup of coffee. He doesn't even bother with the wand in his back pocket. It truly is strange seeing George Weasley as solemn as he's been but, of course, I understand his misery. Although, I don't know if I'll ever get used to seeing him without the life present in his eyes. Lately, he'd been just so… lifeless.

I walk by, smooth the hair atop George's head and, while he doesn't react, Ron's smile slightly lifts my spirits. "Good job, George," I say, "burry her." And Ginny scrunches her nose at my blunt remark of blunt viciousness.

And in this whacky charade of faux joyfulness, the sinking in my chest reminds me that we are all only acting. It isn't until I am back in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling that I get a great big dose of reality. From the direction I am sure Malfoy's room is in, I hear the door creek open and close almost too careful and quiet. Footsteps that I am sure are Draco's exit his room and tiptoe through the living room and through the main door of our quarters. _Reality_, I think as I turn in my bed and close my eyes tight, _reality is just bitter. _

* * *

Bare feet hit the solid ground and the owner of these tired legs winced at the chilliness of the ground below him. The bottom of his pajamas came only to his ankles and, as a matter of fact, he looked as if he hadn't changed out of his sleep wear all day. From his office, Ashby heard these footsteps mixed with heaves of what seemed to be sobs. However, when he heard the knock at his office door, everything else went completely silent.

"Yes?" He said, even though he knew quite well.

"Mr. Ashby," came a rather sad and solemn voice, "it's me, Draco."

"Ah, yes, Mr. Malfoy. Do come in."

The shadow on the other end of the door slowly drew the front of it open and stood, like a blond glow in the darkness. His light hair drew in a slant across his forehead, he looked more of a mess than he has in his file photograph. As good as a therapist as he was, Ashby, of course, was very much a good analyzer. About the Malfoy son, Ashby noted the puffiness of his eyes. He noticed the hard work the boy had obviously put in to cleaning his face to his best abilities. He'd noticed, most importantly of all, Malfoy's uncharacteristically poor posture. "Just in time, then," Ashby said with a smile. "Are you ready then?"

Draco took several steps forwards and nodded. Ashby noted how nervous Draco Malfoy was at that very moment. However, he almost forced himself onto the long sofa and lay down, hands across his stomach. And, curtly, Ashby drew out his wand. "Relax, Mr. Malfoy." Shakily, Malfoy's breath quivered. "Relax." Beneath his pajama top, Malfoy's chest flattened.

Malfoy's wide eyes watched Irwin Ashby wander off to his desk and whisk a long and slender wand off his personal desk. Ashby rose his own thin wand and opened his rather wide mouth, "Legilimens!"

There was a gasp and a flash of light and a haunted reality overwhelmed the little office.

* * *

**Vonne- **Thank you, once again.


	4. We'll Make This Brief

**Vonne: **I know it might feel like it took a while for me to update but, like most of you on here, I like getting a certain amount of reviews per chapter. So, once I update, of course, that means I'm satisfied. Thanks for all the reviews I've been getting so far lately. I am excited to see that I have a well-liked fiction. I've also made a space below to answer some of your questions. I realize there is a respond button for each of the reviews to personally respond to, however, I like this way better. It takes up more space and makes the chapter look 10 times longer.

**Rosebud23: **Will we see Draco interact with any others? Ha-ha, yes! Believe it or not, I was actually planning on writing this chapter before you said that. Hopefully you'll be happy with the interaction I have planned. This is going to be more over a Draco fiction, so don't think otherwise. Oh, and thanks for the compliments!

**Rin5o: **He is! That's exactly what I was trying to describe about writing in Harry's perspective. He's just so much of a main character. And, of course, Ron and Draco is always great. The two of them are absolutely my favorite characters.

**Danceforair: **Shoot! Damn homonyms. It was probably 'it's' versus 'its', huh?

**These Trees Rule: **Thanks! I'm so glad you like it so far. As for everyone hating Draco- I wanted to make it as realistic as possible. Draco would have to have some sort of trauma. I mean, the battle ended and the Malfoys were sitting in the corner not really knowing what to do. Even though in the end they kind of got a Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free card, I'd assume half the Wizarding World must have took quite a while to warm up to them. Oh, and you'll find out the rest. Ha-ha.

**Eos Evanggelys: **Thank you! I'm glad you like it so far!

**Dramione1996: **I know- Draco is amazing, isn't he? Sometimes bad is best.

**QueenCelestiaxyv: **Ha-ha. Yup, legilimens. : )

**Chapter Four  
We'll Make This Brief**

**

* * *

**

**George's POV:**

"I don't," I tell an inquiring Ashby, "want to talk about my brother."

Ashby assures me, "No one is making you, Mr. Weasley." Right. Of course they aren't. So far all any one has ever expected of me is to participate in a talk about Fred. "What," he asks, tilting his head further, "do you want to talk about?" Honestly, I don't want to talk at all, have never wanted to talk, but looking back at him I find myself shrugging at him. "Do you mind if I proceed in asking you a few questions?" He notices the flicker behind my eyes and defends his suggestion, "not about your twin."

I nod, "Go for it."

"Do you find that anger is an effective method in times of tragedy?"

I am stopped dead on my streak of dodging any uncomfortable questions. I am left gaping, like Malfoy previously this morning and, staring back at Ashby in disbelief, I'm not quite thinking straight when I draw myself up from my seat and stare down at him stupidly. I hear myself respond in a voice that is half a yell and half a slur, "I think I'd like to leave now."

Nodding, Ashby looks all but scared behind his spectacles. "you're welcome to leave whenever you'd like, Mr. Weasley."

I nod, slightly falling from my high horse of defense, "Yeah," I say. However, in an attempt to knock Ashby down a peg of his own, I spit, "and don't call me Mr. Weasley. That's my father." It's lame and unnecessary and, making my way to the door of the office, I remember how Fred was usually the quick-witted one. However, during my walk down the slender corridor my heaving chest completely slowed and I pull open the living room door looking slightly sloppy.

"George!" Ginny smiles as I walk in the room and flop back down on the couch. My response is something that sounds slightly annoyed, but I'm not quite sure as I don't consider myself to be fully present in the room with the others. However, I do feel Ginny's head on my shoulder and I smile despite myself, patting her politely on the head. "How was it?" She asks the same question thats been asked for everyone so far and, shrugging, I lie just like everyone else has so far. "Oh George," she says, biting her lip, "I'm so glad."

It takes a moment, but I instantly notice that it is only the three of us up- myself, Ginny and a rather sleepy looking Ron. He turns around balancing three cups of tea in his hands and staggers over to us with a frown that spreads over his entire mouth. "So far all I've gotten from everyone is good reviews of that guy," he says, sounding rather suspicious of my fib, "he must be _some_ therapist." He raises his eyebrows up at me and tilts his head. His doubt, while justified, slightly annoys me. With a rather tense glance up at him, I take my tea stir it quietly.

"Don't listen to him, Ginny," I say, once again lying through my teeth, "Ashby's a good guy. I feel like I've let out some feelings that I truly needed to get out." Ron rolls his eyes; being a Weasley brother, he's inherited the knack for being able to see through people's little lies. "I'm sure you'll get good use of him, Ron. Don't fret." Once again Ron rolls his eyes and, quite literally, I find myself slightly happy as I bug my younger brother.

Ron scrunches up his nose and squints his eyes in my direction, "I'm not '_fretting', _George." He takes a seat across from Ginny and I and I find myself analyzing, as I have been quite lately. I analyze that his face has never looked paler, that his eyes have never seemed so sleep deprived. In my brothers' frumpy visage, I don't find any ounce of hope. "You know," he advises me, looking over the rim of his teacup, "I'd like to know what the two of you talked about. Anything-- interesting?"

"_Ron!"_ Ginny is suddenly up to my defense. "Those matters are private. Therapy is meant to be buttoned-up. Covert!" However, Ron's eyes lock into mine and I know I've really pushed his buttons.

"No, if he wants to know," I say with a shrug, "he wants to know." I cannot help this temper rising in my chest and at the same time I cannot fathom my recent urge to start a fight. Maybe keeping quiet was not good for me. Maybe I wasn't meant to be bottled up. "If you must know, Ron, we talked about books and days back at Hogwarts. Quite frankly, I told him about my study habits." Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar.

The tea cup rattles in Ron's hands and he is having a hard time keeping it down his own throat. I can tell by the hard look on his face that he isn't up for any games. What does he expect? "And this helps your state of mind..._how_?"

"Everyone has a different way to move forward, Ron." Ginny pats me on the shoulder. "Honestly, Ron. What's gotten in to you?"

What had gotten in to my youngest brother had very much gotten in to me, too. I can feel my face heating up, can feel it redden and I am admittedly embarrassed. I do not like fighting with Ron, although I know that I'd have no problem winning if we were to get into any sort of buff, despite his serious glare. "Nothing's gotten in to me, Ginny," he says, still locking his gaze at me alone, "It's George that's being loony. Fred was our brother too, you know." Numbness. I feel my entire body fall completely loose. "Stop acting like you're the only one who misses him, George." I cannot feel my legs. I cannot feel my arms. I cannot feel the back of my throat or the sweat starting to collect at the crown of my forehead. "You don't know how many nights I--"

"_Enough!" _Ginny's voice slices across the thin air like a knife. "Ron, what the _hell _is the _matter_ with you?"

I cannot feel Ginny's hand as it slides over my left knee. I cannot feel my heart pounding heavily in my chest. Ron's eyes break their stare and he shakes his head slowly, "No. I don't know, Gin." I watch as he pulls himself up from the couch and leaves his steaming hot tea cup on the top of the living room table. "I'm not sure, either. I'm, uh, I'm sorry, George." And he extends his arm out to me for a shake. I can tell that this act is against his better judgement; he is only offering it to me to settle the tension he has so obviously created. But I am numb and I do not lift my own hand to meet his. Instead, I am staring at his pale palm, waiting. After a short while Ron flinches and, nodding, mutters, "that's what I'd thought." In an instant, he storms from the room and I am beyond any point of feeling.

Ginny says, "George, Ron didn't mean that"

I am staring on after him. And, much to my own surprise, I am finally speaking the truth. "Yes he did."

**

* * *

**

George Weasley often found himself up after hours and, sitting on the living room couch with his gaze in a certain silver utensil, he realized that his current solitude wasn't all that unusual. In the reflection of the silver spoon, his own morphed visage watched him back and, running his tongue over his teeth, he pushed back the sudden urge to laugh at his odd appearance. His face bulged out in the mirror of the kitchen spoon and his eyes looked rather large, as if ready to pop out of his pale and freckled skull. However, it was the big hole on the side of his head that could in no way look like a joke. Admitting to himself that he looked utterly terrible, he couldn't help but wish he had Fred around to poke fun at him for it.

Being way past midnight, George had reached the point where he'd never really considered himself to have a specific bedtime of sorts. Quite honestly, he hadn't been sleeping much— commonly, he had begun to fake his unconsciousness. With his eyes closed, awake by all means, his mind slipped into the past. This was not something he'd fancied much and, despite it all, tried very desperately to get some form of sleep. And it was only when he couldn't get any rest that he found himself up and preoccupied. Nonetheless, his presence in the dark living room that night wasn't much of a coincidence. He blinked at his morose visage and set the spoon back down, scooting it as far away from him as possible.

It was Fred who'd once told him, "George, once a man beings fearing his own reflection, that's when things go down the shooter." Of course, he'd said it only after a bad haircut that their mother, Molly, had forced George to get. Smiling as goofy as ever, Fred took quick action to prove his point; he took anxiously to the scissors and styled himself a matching cut. "See," he said, beaming under his head of what used to be hair, "now we look like twins!"

In the darkness of the night, there was a slight creek about the living room. At the sudden realization of his privacy abandoned, George froze in his seat. With his back facing the new intruder, he mumbled, "What are you doing up so late?"

In a voice that contained a hint of pride and embarrassment, George heard the intruder respond, "I could ask you the same question." Draco Malfoy was the last person George had expected to hear.

George spun around in his seat. Malfoy was standing in the doorframe of the front door in pajamas that were unusually too small. Under the absence of light, George couldn't tell if Malfoy just looked exhausted or utterly dazed. "So that's what you do, is it?" George muttered, "wander the halls late at night?" His pale palms rolled up into two tight fists. Looking back at the blond boy, all he could see was the darkness of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"I was not wandering." Malfoy spat, equally as defensive.

"Well, you sure as hell weren't sleep-walking!"

Malfoy opened his mouth and then, as it seemed, thought better of it. He held a rather strong gaze at George and let it falter, too. And maybe George had seen wrong, but from his standpoint he could have sworn he saw Malfoy's shoulders sink. Unbelievably George watched the entire body of Draco Malfoy deflate. His eyes, once squinted at George in disbelief, seemed to widen carefully. Malfoy's eyes glanced from George to somewhere in the room beyond the both of them. Without saying another word, Malfoy, dumbfounded, spun around and whipped the door open so fast that a large gust of air blew back in George's own face. And, when the door shut, George was almost sure he'd heard the slam of Maloy's back fall on the wall between them as well as the scratch of his body sinking down to the ground.


	5. Committed

**Vonne****:** Thanks for all the reviews and responses that I have got so far from all of you. I really appreciate when I do hear positive feedback- but negative feedback is also good as well. Sorry if the end of this starts to feel a bit rushed. The reason it feels that way is because, well, it was a bit rushed. I worked on this chapter while I was waiting until I felt I had enough reviews for my last chapter, so when I did get enough I hurried to finish up. Sorry ha-ha. Hopefully, however, it won't be too, too horrible. My responses to all your reviews are below. Look for your name and see if your questions have been answered! Thanks again guys and, please, all your reviews are very, very much appreciated.

**QueenCelestiaxyv: **Thanks a lot. And, trust me, I so know what you mean about Fred's death. Put it this way, when I read about Dumbledore's death in the fifth book, Order of the Pheonix, I threw it across the room and when I finally got to Fred Weasley's death in Deathly Hallows I was inconsolable. It's like, I've been reading Harry Potter for such a long time that I just consider all of them like real people. So depressing. Either way, however, I'm glad you're liking this so far. Thank you!

**Skittering-Roach: **Thanks! HA-HA it would be nice if some one could possibly come to their terms with Draco.

**Rosebud23: **Stupid alert mails. HA-HA. Anyways, I'm glad you like the interactions because, honestly, I'm just writing it as I go. Which is why your review made me laugh a little. I honestly wrote this chapter before I got your comment about wanting a full-on Draco therapy session. Mind you, this will be the first of many, but it's just funny how you seemed to predict it. And, yeah, I didn't expect to start with George, but I did know that I wanted him to be in this. I've always thought he would have suffered very much. Poor lil' guy.

**Rin5o: **Oh, of course. I've always thought the Weasley boys might have a little bit of anger issues, especially after the death of such a vital person in their lives. Plus, staying completely mute wouldn't get much done. HA-HA. And Draco's more over their way to vent because of his aunt Bella. Anyways, thanks for your review. I'm so glad you like it so far!

**Danceforair: **Ha, I honestly have no idea whether of not vs is a homonym. : )

**Dramione1996: **Hopefully this chapter will better answer what's going on in Draco's mind.

**Chapter Five  
Committed **

Although he'd done it times before, Draco Malfoy's nerves were once again getting the best of him. Pacing the ground next to him, Ashby shook his head. "You know what your problem is, Draco? You're not used to being vulnerable. Vulnerability makes you nervous." Malfoy's eyes were wide with fear and Ashby watched Draco sweat as he paced unpatiently above him. "What are you so afraid of, Mr. Malfoy?" However, the question proved to be quite rhetorical; Malfoy swallowed but didn't say a word. "Listen to me." Ashby continued, "Take a deep breath." Malfoy's chest was rising and falling fast and Ashby waited for Malfoy's response. However, when he was quite certain that he wasn't going to get one, he continued with his instructions. "In and out, Mr. Malfoy." And, sighing, Malfoy obliged. "Good. Now, close your eyes." Trying to hold his own breath quiet, Harry strode forward and perched himself next to Ashby, who drew out his own slender wand.

Malfoy's voice sounded like a whimper. He shook his head, his eyes pressed shut, "I don't want to do this anymore."

Ashby's eyebrows rose. Squinting at the boy in the dark, his shoulders sank lower and he, wearily, drew down his wand. "Why?" Malfoy's answer was a quick shake of his head, however both his eyes remained pressed shut. "The only way you can break your fears is to face them." Ashby said as if reciting a poem he'd quoted over one million times, "being vulnerable does not mean that you are weak. Sometimes it is a good thing to offer yourself--"

Malfoy's head was shaking so so fast that pieces of his blond hair fell down across his sweaty forehead. "I'm not scared," he lied through his teeth.

"Mr. Malfoy, you know that I was instructed to do what I thought to be best for you. You, unlike the others, have been committed in your stay here. I assure you that I do not wish to preform any sort of spell on you against your will." On the couch below Ashby, Malfoy's palms poured with sweat. "Even your father suggested this to be best for you in your condition at this point."

"My father doesn't know what's best for me," Malfoy protested, "and neither do you." And, despite his stubbornness, he remained laying on the couch with his eyes shut, as if waiting for it to come anyways despite his opposition.

"You know you don't think such things about Lucius, Draco. You and I know very well that you look up to your father very much so. That was very prominent during your whole ordeal. From what I've heard, you were scared--ah yes, Mr. Malfoy, there's no denying that you were scared-- for the safety of your family." The short and pudgy therapist tightened his grip on his wand, "you don't want to let your mother and father down do you? They just want the best for you." Smoothly, he added, "do you not share their hopes of putting the entire ordeal behind them?" This, quite frankly, seemed to do it for the panting Malfoy. The lump in this throat still very much present, he let his body sink into the cushion. "That's a boy," Ashby said, rather pleased, and with that he lifted up his wand once again. "Legilimens!"

There was at once a grave feeling of nausea that fluttered in Draco's already anxious stomach and then, afterwards, he found himself reliving a part of the nightmare. The scene was that of Hogwarts' School, caught ablaze by Crabbe's fire gone awry. The Room of Requirements burned all over, casting the stone walls up with orange and red flickering light. He saw the scene from his perspective on the ground, running for Crabbe and Goyle as they stood helplessly across the floor from him. The two gaped at the uncontrollable fire, helpless to their own dark magic. "Crabbe! Goyle!" Draco heard himself saying, reminiscing the horror before him, "No!" From his spot surrounded by the flames, Draco saw their shadows pressed up against the stone wall, quivering up at the cracking fire. "Don't kill him!" He was shouting, speaking for the well being of the great Harry Potter. "Don't kill him!"

However, Draco could see that Crabbe's mission of murder was no longer in play; the look of terror on the fat boy's face was very much giving him away. "Harry!" Came a shout from above and, whirling his attention to the sky above him, Draco set his sight on the pair of broomsticks whizzing around above. It was Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger, all shouting across the sky to one another. Harry said, "They're going to burn to death!" And Draco knew this was true. With a quick adrenaline rush, he pushed his way through a small opening in the flames and sprinted towards the only two friends he ever really had. Goyle was too close to the flame and Malfoy heard himself cry out, tripping over his own black trousers and stumbling on the stone floor below. His chin slapped the ground and, a bit hazy, he looked back up at his friends, clamming upwards to get back up. Before him, Ron and Hermione's broom darted down and he watched Hermone's hand dart down to crab the collar of the closest to her- Goyle. In the air, Goyle reached for the handle of the broom and once his chubby fingers latched onto it, the fire underneath him rose to an all time high. Before Ron could direct his broomstick lower to Crabbe, the edges of the fire had just missed his hand. He steered away with a loud gasp. Goyle, on the back of the broom, went suddenly limp with unconsiousness.

Harry yelled to his friends, "Ron, get out of here!" Ron did a double take and shook his head, attempting to dive towards Crabbe, to whom Draco was now running for. It wasn't only until Hermione's screams circled the room that Ron looked more horrified than ever. On their brooms, Ron darted towards the opening in the roof with one last helpless look towards Malfoy and his doomed friend.

"Crabbe! Crabbe!" Draco was yelling as he ran, stumbling over his feet as the flames roared around him. His head felt heavy and, dizzily, he found himself spinning around to find an opening. But there was no way to get to Crabbe, whose yells echoed throughout the burning room. "Crabbe, answer me! Crabbe!" There was a whisk of air around him and Draco looked up just in time to see him; The Chosen One was hovering in the sky, his eyes scanning for what Draco hoped to be Crabbe. However, much to his own dispair, he watched as Harry's green eyes found his. "No," he called out but it was too late. Harry's fingers grabbed around Draco's white button up collar and he was lifted into the air, despite his fight against it. "No, no!"

"Grab on, Malfoy!" Harry was shouting over the fire and Malfoy stopped struggling as his eyes scanned the ground for Crabbe, no where to be seen.

Once on top of the broom, Malfoy yelled, "Go back! Potter, go back!" He couldn't help but hear his voice breaking underneath the angry roar of the fire pit below him.

"Stop struggling! You're going to fall!" Harry was zooming towards the opening in the roof just as the fire rose to the ceiling. Crabbe's screams grew louder and Malfoy saw the burning shadow of one of his own friends cast on the wall of the room.

"No! Potter, go back! Go back. He's burning! He's going to die!" But the broom whisked off under the two of them and Malfoy lunged forward, grabbing Harry around the waist with a short gasp. Once his chest his Harry's back the air spun from his lungs and he searched for Crabbe, his mind intensely fuzzy. "Crabbe!" He was still yelling, "Crabbe!" But Draco could tell it was too late; the flames seemed to crawl up Crabbe's body and Malfoy had to force his eyes shut.

Malfoy and Harry burst through the opening in the roof just before the whole room caught fire and Malfoy couldn't bring himself to open his eyes as the two of them flew through the corridors of the castle. When they came to a crashing land, Malfoy torn himself from the stick and sunk to the ground. He wanted to run back, to tear Crabbe from his burning grave and hurry him to safety. Instead, however, he sat panting on the ground, holding his chest and looking back and forth from Harry to Hermione to a sweating Ron. His head throbbed. He didn't remember, however, this striking pain in his skull. And then there was a tightening sensation in his chest. He blinked, reaching for his head. However, there wasn't much time for him to react; in the next moment he opened his eyes, Ashby was standing over him, slightly pale. Malfoy's breath quickened and he all but fell off the couch at the sight of him.

Supporting himself with his arms, Malfoy stared back at Ashby, who held his wand out like a knife. However, almost suddenly aware of his slightly unprofessional stature, he dropped his hand slowly to his side and nodded a frightened Malfoy. "Very good, Mr. Malfoy. I think I've found out some very interesting information that can help with your recovery," he said, slightly too slowly.

But Malfoy did not appear to be so optimistic. Gasping as if he'd just risen from deep waters, he looked at Ashby as if he'd just witnessed a murder. Even Ashby, however, noted the sickly stance about Malfoy's visage. "That's a boy," he said as he reached for Malfoy's shoulders and pulled him upright. "Very good." Coaxing his patient, Ashby watched Malfoy's shaky feet hit the ground. He slung Malfoy's arm over his shoulder and assisted him as he limped to the office's front door. "Get some rest, son," he called after the staggering Malfoy. "I'll see you again tomorrow night."

Ashby watched as Malfoy stumbled through the skinny hallway, using the wall for support. With his too short pajamas barely covering his own legs, his towering shadow vanished as he stepped through his own corridor towards his bedroom. From his spot down his own hallway, Malfoy waited until he heard the echo of Ashby's office door shut until he opted to opening his own. And there he stood, wet with his own dripping sweat, in the dark living room. George and the others were nowhere in sight. Malfoy let his breath slow and soften. Making his way to the couch he tried to ignore his quivering legs and walk with less of an unintentional swagger. However, his focus was rather lost as he tried to pull himself to the door of his room and the walls of the living area seemed to close in on him quickly. In his mind he could picture the orange fire, crackling like a threat to him. He was queazy at the thought of it- Crabbe's horrible death and, bitterly, he knew he had to sit down.

On his way to the door, however, he lost his concentration and abruptly tripped over his own feet, once again crashing to the ground pathetically. There was the bloody taste of iron in his mouth and he knew he had bit his own tongue. The room spun around him and, watching the darkness, he wondered what could possibly have been wrong with him. A queazy sensation flooded through his throat and he felt himself slipping. And, looking up towards he staircase that led to the bedrooms of the others, Malfoy was sure he'd heard slow moving footsteps before he lost consciousness.

* * *

**Harry's POV:**

After my nightmare streak previously over the past couple of days, I hadn't felt exactly up for trying to get any rest. However, standing outside my bedroom and pacing at the top of the steps wasn't exactly the release I'd been hoping for. However, after having sat in my bed under the covers for several hours I had settled on the idea of actually pulling myself up from the cover's clutches. Ron and Hermione lean across the wall staring back at me and we resemble an odd triangle; I am staring at Ron, who stares at Hermione, who in turn stares back at me. "You know," Ron said, "my Gran once said that a warm cup of tea is the best way to get rid of nightmares."

Hermione kicks Ron ankle lightly and rolls her eyes. She is in her soft pink robe and her hair is tied in a little braid that she lets rest over her left shoulder. "Tea is probably the best way to rid yourself of nightmares because if you drink it before bed you won't sleep. Caffeine, Ronald, honestly." Ron shrugs up at me and I smile back at my two closest friends. They had in fact opted to come and pace the outside of my bedroom with me, though I had a feeling neither of the two could get to sleep either. I had come to this conclusion after having crawled out of bed and away from Ginny, who was out like a light and slumped down under the covers drearily. She didn't wake at my departure and I'd made quite sure to shut the door behind me as I made my leave. Ron and Hermione's voices were the first thing to great me as I stepped out the door.

"Don't get too picky, Ron," Hermione's voice had scolded. "What do you want from him? Don't you realize that people have their own ways of mourning a loss? You certainly--"

"Certainly _what, _Hermione?" Ron said, not exactly angry as he was frustrated. I'd frozen at the door, hand hovering over the knob noisily. And while I hadn't meant to be so intrusive, I had rather developed a knack towards not caring either way.

"All I'm saying Ron," Hermione said, sheepishly, "is that you certainly have your own way of dealing with this yourself. And, quite frankly, it's not all that different from George's methods."

The doors were so thin I heard Ron slide away from her on the mattress. "That's beside the point." As I turn the doorknob and open the door, I consider myself doing both of them a favor as I attempt to break up what may have been an unnecessary fight. "Harry!" Ron had said, looking somewhat relived to see me standing there. Hermione blinked up at me and looked back down at the mattress. However, she had followed Ron's lead as he pulled himself up from his bed. Of course, that had been what had led us back outside, all three staring at one another seriously. Ron's suggestions towards masking nightmares was the fifth of many.

Something, however, breaks our three-way stare; a flop on the ground catches our attention. "What was that?" Hermione says, slightly frightened. She had been doing that quite often lately, as Ron has told me- getting frightened. I see out of the corner of my eye that Ron has laced his arm around Hermione's thin waist and I am glad that they have put their small disagreement behind them. Ron stands in front of her and I take my stance in front of them, fishing for my wand in my back pocket. In a line we stagger down the steps. The moon is unforgiving casting such little light with the living room is as dark as I've ever seen it. I scan the place rapidly, my eyes trying to adjust to the midnight black room. Through the darkness, Ron says, "oy! There." His pale white hand flashes out in front of me and his finger is resting on the space before a large lump, resting in the middle of the living room. As still the lump is, I approach it cautiously. My heart beats quickly and suddenly I am reminded of dead bodies. The lump, resting like a deceased corpse in a dead field, rises and falls emitting a sad and weary groan.

"Lumos!" I whisper, however, I am not expecting the face that the tip of my wand lights up. Draco Malfoy, bleeding from the corner of his mouth, is laying on the ground in his pajamas, just before the door to his bedroom.

"What is Malfoy doing out here?" Ron asks, letting go of Hermione's waist. Anxiously, Hermione is quick to position herself at Malfoy's side in a complete squat. At little shaken from the walk down the stairs, her hands carefully remove the blond hair from Malfoy's forehead. It is wet and and stiff as she smoothes it back behind his ear.

"He doesn't look too well." Hermione says with a quiver, and despite my better judgement I kneel down next to her and examine Malfoy myself closely. With my fingers at the top of his neck I can tell that he is alive; his pulse throbs and quick.

"Here," I say, making my way to Malfoy's top half. With a little grunt I slip my hands under his arms and hoist him into the air. "Ron, his feet." He obliges and wraps her palms around his ankles. Still unconscious, Malfoy's body is limp as we carry him up to his room, stumble up to his bed, and drop him gently on his side onto the mattress. He mumbles something under his breath and Hermione, Ron, and I stare at him rather out of breath. "What the _hell?" _I say after a while of staring at Malfoy's body, a mix of blood and salvia dribbling from the corner of his mouth. Ron and Hermione stare down at him, in as much disbelief as I am in. However, Ron is the first to tear himself away from Malfoy's bedside and, in a stumble of his own, he lifts something small and thin from the chair before him.

With my wand lit, I can see how messy Malfoy's room really is. While the clothes were still neatly packed in their suitcases, it looks as if letter writing had been the object of Malfoy's desire while he kept himself in his room over the days. The tossed letters are not of anything in particular; mostly they consisted of crosses out and angry penman ship all addressed to his father. "Hey, look at this!" Ron says with a malicious smile and I notice that he is holding a small journal in the palms of his hands. The thing is black and neat and leather, much like Hermione's. "Looks like Malfoy keeps a journal." However, the three of us don't have much time to look it over. On the bed, Malfoy shifts himself to a more comfortable position and moans rather helplessly. "We'd better get out of here," Ron advises, though he is too late.

Malfoy's cry comes high pitched and shaky, "Lumos!" At the sight of us, Malfoy's eyes widen and he spins around, whipping his own wand from the little desk next to him. "What are you doing in my room?" Shocked and caught, none of us can think of anything to say. Habitually, I put the light on the tip of my wand out. Malfoy doesn't, however, consider how he'd ended up in his own bed in the first place. I think to myself of how foolish I'd been to expect any bit of gratitude. "Get out!" He shakes his wand, "I'm warning you, _get out_!" And the three of us stumble out the door, leaving Malfoy up and panting on his mattress.

Standing on the other side of his bedroom door, the three of us note the rather large lock on the outside of the room. Quietly, Ron whispers, "is there a lock the _outside_ of your room?" Both Hermione and I, we shake our heads no and the three of us don't leave until we see the light go out from Malfoy's wand under the crack of his door.

**Vonne: **Review!


	6. What's Mine Isn't Yours

**Vonne: **Thank you for all the reviews! I am so glad you are all liking the fiction so far. Let me be the first (or, rather, second) to say, however, there was a mistake in the last chapter. I don't have many reviewers with questions, however, but the few that I do have are listed below. Thanks again guys!

**Rosebud23: **HA-HA while you will get that wish/prediction, it might be a little later. I, for one, can't wait to write a chapter in Draco's point-of-view, but I've still got to get to Ron (yay!) and Ginny (if I can find a way to do so without making it boring.) And, yes, ha-ha. I do take blame for egging you on a bit. Draco is, as you all know, my favorite along with Ron.

**Skittering-Roach: **Oh damn. HA-HA the reason why that sentence was there was because I'd originally wrote the chapter where Harry was witnessing the whole session under the invisibility cloak, but then thought better of it. (I had wanted to save what I'd had planned for later on). While I'd managed to delete every other hint of Harry's presence, I guess I'd forgotten that sentence. HA-HA good eye! Sorry that it didn't make any sense to you or anyone else confused by it.

**Rin5o: **You know, I think putting time in here would actually be very helpful. Thanks for the suggestion. Hopefully the time fragments that I have now help you a lot more.

* * *

**Chapter Six:  
What's Mine Isn't Yours**

_Day 6:_  
Ashby had been reviewing, yet again, the case files in front of him trying to find, as it so seemed, a better way to describe his lot. As far as he'd gotten, he'd faced the obvious illusion that included the following: Harry Potter, the leader. Potter was clearly as distant as the others, however he'd seemed to have prepared himself for the overwhelming amount of casualties years ago. Furthermore, Ashby could sense that Mr. Potter, having volunteered himself to stay in Ahsby's care, was trying to improve himself for the satisfaction of one Ginny Weasley. Ginny Weasley, in fact, had been somewhat of a puzzling being to Ashby himself. His sessions with her had consisted of round about talks about her brothers. She had informed him once of her worry to which he responded, "Yes, Ms. Weasley, but what about yourself?"

To which, Ginny Weasley responded with a shrug, "Yes, but I feel I will be able to get past this. Not Fred, of course. But, the situation in general. I feel I will, someday of course, be able to live a normal and peaceful life. It's Ron, George, and my other family members I'm worried about."

Ashby's response to that had been, "So then, why are you here?"

And Ginny said, truthfully, "Because I need help to." In his notebook Ashby had concluded that the only girl of the Weasley children had been, in fact, the most stable. That, however, didn't stop him from analyzing the others. Ron, the youngest of the boys, was a worrier. He suppressed his feelings about the ordeal like a mere child and didn't particularly know that right way to release them. George was just the same, however directed his angry for the most part towards Ron. About one Hermione Granger, Ashby had scribbled down a collection of adjectives "_control freak, however calm and poised at the same time. Also a worrier and has an intense consistency to shove these feelings of worry through her dreams." _He'd also scratched down the sentence, "_Seems to think she can predict death through her nightmares."_

It was Draco Malfoy's file that had been left rather blank, a fact that would not even slightly satisfy Lucius Malfoy. And, because it had been Draco's parents who had suggested his enrollment in Ashby's program in the first place, he had truly not wanted to disappoint. Making the infamous Malfoys angry would not, of course, be a goal of Irwin Ashbys. While they'd remained tucked away to themselves after the battle, it hadn't suppressed Ashby's previous knowledge of their prior ways. Although he wasn't fully aware of the depths of Malfoy's suffering or obedience to the Dark Lord but the more and more he allowed the Malfoy's son in his office, the closer he found himself getting to their darkest depths. With his quill and paper, he'd wrote down about Draco Malfoy:

_"Malfoy, Draco. Age 18  
Birthdate: June 5, 1980_

_Since being in my care, Draco Malfoy has stayed rather quiet up in his room, keeping to himself. However, since it has been suggested to me that Mr. Malfoy receives special sessions with me, he has followed my instruction to be in my office late nights for additional sessions upon his father's request. After several Legilimacy sessions with the boy I have come to the conclusion that the severity of his families previous alliance (i.e. specifically their fascination with the Dark Lord and their past as well-known Death Eaters) seems to confuse him. Of course, I have come to realize that Draco's situation was very much thrust upon him, and his overall hope to redeem his family name, played a major part in his overall decisions, both bad and good. However, for the most part, my sessions with the only son of Narcissia and Lucius Malfoy only raises more questions that answers."_

There was a knock at the door and, sighing, Ashby was beginning to wonder why he wasn't starting to expect these sort of disruptions. "Mort, I am really busy at the moment." However, at the other end, Ashby's visitor cleared their throat.

And while in fact it had been Mort at the other end of the door, his voice was somewhat rushed and anxious. "Irwin," he said, rather disgusted, "one of your patients is, er, sick in the bathroom."

Ashby raised his little head, "Come in, Mort." The expression on Ashby's assistant's face was rather pale and sickly. He'd looked as if he'd just witnessed someone bleed to death. "Draco Malfoy," he said, still in the frame of the door, "he's throwing up in one of the stalls." At once, Ashby drew himself from his desk and, sliding his wand off his desk, thrust himself through the doorframe of his office and disappeared down the corridor to the public restrooms.

"Malfoy!" Ashby shouted, staring about the public restrooms without wincing at the constant surges of retching noises that echoed throughout the bathroom. "Mr. Malfoy, what is the matter?" There was no instant answer, however, at the second of silence came yet another sound of choking noises.

Ashby strode forward, his shoes making clipping sounds against the tile floor, "No!" Malfoy's voice came through slightly raspy and desperate. "Don't come any closer! I don't need your help right now, Ashby." He was cut off by the instant need to spill the contents of his stomach out into the toilet. "Just leave."

"I'm not leaving, Mr. Malfoy." Ashby reassured the blond boy, however, he continued nosily, "What is it that is making you sick?" Sudden sobs echoed through the bathroom. The cries mixed with the gagging that emitted from Draco Malfoy's own throat. When no answer came to him, Ashby said, "can you at least tell me what is upsetting you?" His response was nothing but silence and, giving up, Ashby pressed his back to the wall of the restroom and slid down to the floor, bringing out his own collection of notes from his briefcase. "Tell me, is it possible that these feelings of nausea spur from nothing else but your own memories?" The very memories, in fact, that made even Ashby sick to his own stomach.

"I said _'go away'_." Draco coughed, "I don't need you here. This isn't one of my sessions! I don't have to answer anything."

As truthful as it was, Ashby continued, "Of course, Mr. Malfoy." And he drew himself up to his feet. "Don't forget. I'll be there to start your session as always, tonight. Take care." And Draco's choking intertwined with Ashby's slowly departing footsteps.

* * *

**Ron's POV:**

_4:00 pm _  
And it begins.

The staring contest between George and I were in had been in full swing. And as I sit on the couch across from him I am trying heavily not to blink. George, as it seems, is doing much better that I am; his eyes don't seem to itch and he is as lock in on me as ever. "It is impossible," Ginny says from the couch where she is perched by George's shoulder, "for the two of you to get along. For a couple _hours _today? I'm not asking much." She is dripping sweat as she says this, her long red hair tied back in a bun and pieces of it hang in her pale face. "Merlin, it's hot in here." With a quick raise of her wand, she points anxiously at the dingy floor fan and in one flick of her wrist the thing is spinning faster than I'd imagined possible. All the while, George continues his exceptional stare. Quite frankly, however, I'm beginning to think that our staring contest is an improvement over the past several days; not once have we muttered, "_he _started it," or "I will if he will." Ginny, on the other hand, doesn't quite seem to notice our success. She sits with an unsatisfied look planted on her face and only changes her attention to complain about the heat. It is true- the weather is murder. With a weary sigh, Ginny kicks off her socks one by one and they land on the floor in an exasperated flop. If only mum could see her knitted master pieces discarded on the floor, unwanted, she'd have Ginny's neck.

Just as I feel I am about to win this fight, my eyes flicker close and open to the view of George's brimming face; it is the first sincere smile I've seen out of him all week. I fill my mind with an ample amount of swear words and glare back, casually digressing. "Can I ask the two of you to please _play nice?" _There is unneeded desperation in Ginny's voice and I wonder to myself if George notices this the way I do. I don't want to fight with George, have never wanted to and, despite my persistence to hold a gaze. Pondering this, I doubt that George is thinking the same thing about our recent disagreements. "Or at least to try?" George's smile is still absolutely present and, because I truly can't control myself, I let my face fall.

"I will if he will," I say, abruptly breaking my own rule. I have fully sunk back to the beginning. Ginny's eyes roll and George's smile, much to my dismay, has tripled in size.

Absolutely beaming, George says, "Wow, Ron, you and Ginny should switch places." Foolishly, I raise my eyebrow, confused. "I'm starting to think you should be the youngest in the family." He shrugs and his shoulders reach up to his only surviving ear. "Sure act like it." I open my mouth in rebuttal, however Ginny's sudden glare forces it instantly closed. There is, however, rather rushed footsteps at the top of the steps and an exhausted Harry and Hermione climb down them, the two of them dripping with sweat.

"It's bloody hot!" Hermione says, fanning herself with a trashed piece of construction paper. With a sleek look at the whirling floor fan, she adds, "can someone turn that thing up? Or at least conjure up a wind storm in here?" Her hair is tied back in a messy pony tail that touches the back of her slender neck and she is wearing nothing but a pair of flannel Gryffindor pajama shorts and a damp white tee shirt. She flops down next to me, not noticing the tension between George and I, and instantly regrets it. Hermione tosses me an apologetic frown and scoots as far away from me as possible. "Sorry, Ron," she says with a simple pant, "It's just too hot."

George's stare breaks, however it does so in pieces; his eyes flicker away from me and then back again before looking up at Harry thoughtfully. "Yeah, and Malfoy's all cooped up in that room. It's bleeding hot in here and he's been up there---"

"Not as long as you think." Harry says, matter-of-factly. "Turns out Malfoy took to sleeping on the floor last night." Both Ginny and George exchange rather puzzled glances and Harry further explains, "Ron, Hermione, and I found him laying down here completely passed out last night."

"What he means is," Hermione adds, "it didn't look like he'd been sleeping down here on purpose." Her fanning doubles in speed. Letting out yet another sigh, she explains, "we carried him back into his room and stayed until he, well, woke up." A soft smile broke her face, "let's just say he wasn't too grateful."

I shake my head, "I'm beginning to think Malfoy's mental."

"Good job, Ron," George interjects, "you're just figuring that out now?"

This time, however, I can beat him at his own game. "Last night I found his journal---"

"Ronald!" It comes from Hermione this time who, as it turned out, was closer to me than I'd originally expected; as far as she was, she still managed to lightly slap me across the forearm. "What is it with men and reading other people's journals?" Resting herself back to a comfortable position on the couch, Hermione lets out a small snort and shuts her eyes and her head swings back and forth. "I swear." I can't help but laugh and, much to my gratitude, Hermione's look of disapproval shifts into a tiny smile. Despite herself, she is laughing with the lot of us. "You have to return it, you know," she informs me, looking instantly sincere. "You can't keep Malfoys _journal." As she playfully nudges me, a strand of sweaty red hair flops across my perspiring forehead. _

It isn't until hours later when I realize how hard returning the journal will actually be. I am sitting outside Malfoy's door underneath Harry's invisibility cloak, my breath hot and heavy and desperate. The journal, the object of my struggle, rests on the top of my knees, balancing. I can hear pacing in the room behind me. There is an instant stumble and a loud whisper of, "_shit!" _Out of all honesty, it wasn't until Hermione had fallen asleep the night before that I even bothered to open the journal in the first place. Under the cloak I refresh my memory:

_"Day Two, 2:00 am  
It was my father's idea for me to keep a journal, not mine. He'd said it was a good way to vent, to write down my thoughts and evolve through them. But I know why he really wants me to keep a journal. After I'd fallen asleep last night, he'd sent his assistant, Mort, to my room to retrieve it and I now know that this is not a private journal. I could tell by the way the page in the corner had been viciously torn, possibly done in an accident, a rush to clearly check all of the pages. (Yes, hello, Mr. Ashby. Surprisingly, you'll happen to find, I am not as stupid as you might think.) That being said, I refuse to act as your pet, Ahsby.  
Fuck off,  
-Draco Malfoy"_

_"Day Three, 4:35 am  
I may have to write in this journal but I must point out that it is absolutely against my will.  
Ahsby has given orders that I continue to write, however not to address my entries to him specifically. He did not, however, restrict my freedom to include him- as long as I stick by his set rules. So, being that that pathetic excuse of a therapist has the authority to read through my personal things, let it be noted that two, in fact, can play at that game. What I do have to include is the following per entry:  
Location: (Which currently is my bed room).  
Mood: (Which currently consists of anger).  
Feelings about the night's session: (To which I will absolutely reply to with, 'no comment').  
Reason for the above feelings: (To once again I will answer without a comment).  
And, of course- What I feel I've learned from the therapy session: (To which I can honestly say, "How to precisely block my mind')._

"Day Four, 3:47 am  
Location: Bedroom  
Mood: Anger  
Feelings about the Night's Session: I cannot remember it  
Reason for the above feelings: I am not sure  
What I feel I've learned from the therapy session: N/A"

The rest of the pages left blank, I close the little book and blink at the sudden amount of intense silence. The creeks around me, I suddenly realize, are coming from the stairs in front of me. The view I get, however, is of Ashby, dressed in a simple robe with his wand outstretched in front of him, the tip glowing with white light. He doesn't notice me as he continues nearing the front door and I anxiously try to hold my breath. "Aloha Mora," He whispers and I shut my eyes as the lock on Malfoy's bedroom door shakes and evidently pops open. "Are you ready, Mr. Malfoy?" Ashby mutters, his head through the doorframe. And, although there is no answer, it isn't long before Malfoy emerges from his bedroom in his pajamas, same as the night before. There are black bags under his eyes and, in the darkness, his blond hair is the only thing visible besides his eyes. They look tired and scared as they scan Ashby up and down. The two of them, however, waste no time. With his hand held tightly around Malfoy's upper arm, he leads Draco down the steps and, eventually, out of my sight completely.

Nonetheless, I don't waste any time. Under the cloak I race through the mess of Malfoy's room and drop the dingy little journal back on the chair where I had originally found it. There was no doubt he'd noticed it missing. However, as fast as I enter, I am gone, back down the steps and into my own room, panting and out of breath. "Did you return it back to Malfoy?" Hermione says, once I am back in the room and whipping the cloak from my head. Her eyes are closed as she asks this and she looks as if she were asleep. I consider for a moment that she may be sleep talking.

"Yeah," I nod, finally catching my breath. With shaky feet I make my way back to my bed and draw the covers over my shoulders. "Yeah, I returned it alright. Hey, you know Malfoy goes to nightly sessions with Ashby?" Hermione eyes slightly open and I breathlessly continue. "It's like, what, midnight?" In the dark, Hermione stares at me with a puzzled look.

After a while, she says, "if that's what it takes." And, slowly, she sighs, instructing me to lay back down and fall asleep. "We're safe now," she assures me. "Don't worry about it." And as I oblige, slinking back into my sheets, something tells me Hermione isn't so sure herself.

**Vonne: **I love reviews.


	7. I Let You Win

**Vonne:** Ah, once again I'm sorry about the Chapter Five mistake- I wrote it one way to start with and then took it back after thinking about it. Turns out I forgot to erase the bit about Harry. So, my bad. Don't be confused about it being there; just disregard it completely.

**These Trees Rule: **Thanks! You're going to have to keep reading to find out that! :)

**Dramione1996: **HA-HA Draco is one I've always felt sorry for, ever since Half Blood Prince. He's so... complicated. HA-HA, excuse me.

**Rosebud23: **Well, I love seeing reviews. Especially from people like you who do it often- thanks! HA, and I have fun doing the Draco parts because, even though you have to feel sorry for him, you have to remember that he's still kind of a prat.

**Reidluver: **Thanks! I'm so glad you like where this is going so far.

* * *

**Chapter Seven  
I Let You Win**

Twelve o'clock noon and Harry was surprised to see that he'd actually made it up in time to arrive at the hour at Ashby's office. The seven of them sat around Ashby in a semi circle, half completely unmotivated and half blatantly unenthused. The day was hot, although not as abnormally hot as the day before, and luckily it had been a comfortable enough heat to enjoy a pair of trouser without the possibility of ruining them with presperation. In his hands, as well as in the hands of the six others, was a piece of virgin white construction paper and a simple little quill. What Harry had found most intresting was to see one Draco Malfoy across from him; he looked as if he'd not expected the heat or for his face to sweat. Appearing slightly disgusted by the occasional drop, Malfoy was constantly pushing his falling hair back to its normal sleeked back and orderly position.

The first instructions were: "I want you to write down one word that you feel describes how you feel another person here is handling their situation." This, sadly, wasn't hard. Harry set his quill to work and peeked over his glasses to see the others, including Malfoy, hard at work. With eager hands, Ashby collected the paper scraps, shuffeled them into a neat pile, and shifted his own spectacles to an even position on his face. The first paper said, "selfish," and, while it was not Harry's own critizism, he could tell by the look on George's face that he had been the one who'd penned it- no doubt speaking to Malfoy. At once Draco looked slightly flusted and then glared at the group, trying to decode whomever he'd assumed to have submitted it. "The second piece of paper reads 'isolation is not an option, dumb ass.'" And Ashby flops the paper down on his lap. "This was only supposed to be one word," he reminded them, obviously a tad bit too late.

"Alright, then just 'dumb-ass'," Ron growled, tossing Malfoy a look of his own that Harry understood; blaming Malfoy for Fred's death was, nonetheless, logical if one remembered the link he had to his aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange.

Malfoy's mouth snapped open to rebuttal, but Ashby held up a hand, shaking his head at a beaming Ron Weasley, "Mr. Weasley, if you cannot follow the directions..." Instantly Ron's high fell and he grumbled that he would, of course, continue throughout the days lesson as instructed. "Ah," Ashby said, a look of personal interest sliding across his pudgy face, "this thrid one says, 'argumental'. Intresting."

From her spot next to Harry she shot her brothers both a nasty look, "that one goes out to a couple of people." And Ashby's face fell, realizing his activity wasn't going as well as planned. Harry's was next; on the blank white paper that read, "suspicious", it was obvious that it was also directed at Draco Malfoy. In fact, noting this, Malfoy's glance flickered from the Weasley brothers to Harry himself. Not taking any notice to this exchange, Ahsby reviewed the next paper adjective in his hands, but thought better than reading it out loud to the rest of the group. Scratched in handwritting that Irwin Ashby knew well, was, "'pathetic-excuse-for-a-nosy-therapist.'" Clearly, Malfoy had found a way around Ashby's set rules. Ashby, however, let his shoulders drop low, "did any of you follow the instructions?" And Hermione's hand soared.

She said kindly, "I wrote, 'perservering' on my sheet." Ashby was, however not as satisfied by Hermione's compliments as he should have been; it was the sole compliment of the group and, furthermore, one of the only ones that had not been directed at Malfoy.

"Okay," Ahsby said with a sigh and Hermione's proud smile flickered, at the lack of support for toward her kindness. Clearly, the responses were supposed to remain secretive. "Moving on, then. Let me just cover what thsi group therapy is all about, shall I? My plan, from the very beginning, has been and remains to be helping the lot of you move past your stress and continue to live normal lives." Ashby placed the small stack of paper next to his feet on the floor, Hermione's unappreciated compliment on the top; Harry watched her stare at it slyly. "Group therapy is a very important aspect towards reaching this goal. During these sessions you will participate in trust activities, wildnerness retracts, and finally, a recreation activity."

Someone muttered from the group, "Recreation activity?"

And Ashby nodded, answering, "When I really feel you all are ready." The group fell silent and Ahsby eyed his group in front of him. Sighing one last time, he waved his hands, "you can go." Admittedly, he was pretty damn sure he was going to get nowhere with them today.

* * *

Ginny'd POV:

2:30 pm

"You idiots," I say, whacking both George and Ron over the head with each one of my palms. Harry, at my side, stiffles a laugh and, hurridly, I turn back to him, "you too, Harry!" And I whack him across the shoulder though not as hard. The three of them hadn't seemed to be quite taking me seriously and, sighing to myself, I find that I admitting that at least Ron and George are laughing together.

"'Dumb-ass', Ron? Really?" I take instant comfort knowing Hermione is on my side. She gives him an unsatisfied look that shows how humorless she'd actly found his paper scrap letter. "You're lucky Malfoy didn't jump up and hex the three of you on the spot."

"Aw, I guess I got lucky then. Harry, you reckon Malfoy have hexed me?" Ron says, nudging Harry with a wide grin.

George's face turns practically serious, "You'd better watch out, Ron," he says, "Malfoy might write it down in his diary." And the three of them burst uot in a joyful fit of laughter that leaves Ron doubling over and Harry clutching his stomach. Hermione and I, nonetheless, find their joking all but funny. Lagging behind us, Malfoy quickly makes his way out of Ashby's office in a rage; it was quite obvious that he'd stayed behind to discuss something with Ashby, who seemed to have upset him. He doesn't hear the boys' jokes and, with his fists clentched, he rushes by the six of us in a flash.

"You're only going to upset him more," Hermione warns as we enter the living room ourselves; Malfoy's bedroom door slams closed. Both Hermione and I take a seat at the couch, shaking our heads sorrowfully at our boyfriends.

"Anyway," Harry says, "what is there to do around here?" Much to my satisfaction, the boys' amusement has seemed to brighten George's mood. While I do realize that the cheerfulness may only be for the time being, I decide that I will take as much of it as provided. "We've been sitting around here for seven days- one week. Let's do something." He is righ; none of us has moved from the living room since we'd arrived. "What's a better way to get rid of stress than getting some fresh air?"

Ron instantly brightens, raising an eyebrow excitedly, "and what's the best way of getting that fresh air?" George breaks from the two and hurrys up to his bedroom. When he returns he is holding a rather large broom stick in his hand; it is Fred's.

"Quidditch."

5:00 pm

Actually, the boys made quite a success out of their Quidditch game. The leafless trees as their goal posts, it was Ron and Harry versus George and I. On the ground, Hermione seems to be enjoying herself with a book. She subtly glaces at Ron just in time to catch him winking down at her; her hand flys up, giving him a thumbs up in response. We had been playing quite a game, too; George and I often reminded the others that we were in the lead. However, despite their position as the loosing team, Harry and Ron ware smiles that reach out to their ears. "What's that over there, Ron?" I call, utterly serious, pointing out to the sky behind him and Ron spins around. As I whiz past him towards the snitch, I shout, "Guillible!"

Blinking and dumbfounded, Ron yells around in the sky, "Wha-- H-Harry!" From the corner of my eye I watch the shadow of Harry stiffen and his head swing around, trying to spot the golden ball. He catches me first however and darts towards me with full speed; a smile spreads across my face. Behind me I can hear the zoom of the wind, sliced in half by his broom stick's passing through.

"Give up, Potter!" I call back to him playfully, "you couldn't catch me if you tried!"

Harry shouts through the rushing wind, "oh yeah? Looks like I'm going to have to try especially hard, then!" Me ahead of him, I am speeding thruogh the sky with my eyes on the golden snitch fluttering around in front of me. The sun hits it, making it light up like a firefly and I remember how much I really love Quidditch.

"Eat my dust, Harry!" I am calling with a smile back towards him. "What's the matter? Gonna get beat by your girlfriend?" There is a sudden whiplash of rushing air and I look, astounded by my own whizzing broom. "Oh, hello Harry." I say with a smile when he reaches my side.

"Ready to eat your words, Weasley?" He yells over the rushing sounds back to me.

"Not on your life!" My red hair slaps my face and takes flight in the wind and, both of us noticing the snitch, we take off fast towards it together. Harry glances at me every once in a while as we speed towards it and, while I try to focus on the fleeing ball ahead of us, I can't help but smile. However, Harry's distractions cost him; just as the snitchs slows down I make my move. Springing forward I aim my body towards the little thing and, when I open my palm, I find that I have grabbed it. "HA!" I call, slowing to a halt in the air. Harry looks pleased, despite his loss. "You loose Ronald!" In the distance, I can almost feel Ron's face drop. Again, I turn back to Harry and wriggle the newly calm snitch in his face. "Loser!" I mutter playfully.

Harry doesn't blink. "I let you win." He jokes.

And as I float back to the groud I smile unconvinced. "Uh-huh. Good one." Harry follows after me, the smile almost permately stuck on his own face.

On the ground, Hermione pats me on the back. "How does it feel, Ronald?" Hermione says with a giggle, "Getting crushed by your little sister?" Ron doesn't, however, find it very amusing.

"Oh well," Harry says when Ron shakes his head mournfully, "next time..." I laugh and, putting the snitch away, rest my head on Harry's shoulder. He says brightly, "that was fun. Lord knows I needed that." And we all agree. With the sun setting on us in the trees, we head back to the living room we'd spent so much time in, looking foreward to go back and go to sleep.

* * *

From the window outside, Ashby watched the group make their way back to the living room anxiously. With a furrow of his thick brow, Ashby took quick notice to the absence of one Draco Malfoy. Which, as a matter of fact, reminded him. "Draco Malfoy," he said a loud, blinking at the darkness that was his office room. With that he headed to the wooden slab that was his desk. Open and sprawled out at a particular page, Ashby peered down at the little journal behind his dingy glasses.

_Day Seven, 12:00 am  
Dear Journal (or Ashby, whichever you prefer),_

_Since I am, as you know, being forced to write nightly in this stupid journal, I may as well start by saying that no, I do not remember my last session, and no, I do not remember how it made me feel. Seeing as this is a constant happenstance, it is only natural to assume that someone does not now how to correctly do their job. I do remember, however, remember someone screaming and, admittedly, it could have been myself. Then again, "journal", it is not my job to be able to predict these things and, the way I see it, if I am continuously left in the dark, I do not see how improvement could be anywhere in my near future. _

_But since my ideas have been so lately disregarded, it may be best to be the robot that everyone seems to desire. Huh? Isn't that right? So, with that being said, I will bid you farewell, "Journal". And just in case anybody else is READING this and- I don't know, invading my privacy- than I will bid them yet another--_

_Fuck off._

_Sincerely yours, _

_Draco Malfoy_

_Day Seven, 6:00 pm_

_I will make this brief._

_Because I cannot remember much, I will say that I am getting quite fearful of my sanity. At once the memories of my past sessions came rushing back to me, although slightly muffled. I think that someone is tampering with them- with me. I do not feel safe writing here. Ashby, please---_

There was a brief moment that Ashby felt cold and drowsy; the last current page of Draco Malfoy's journal was torn and cut off and, abruptly before he could check for the missing half in the pages behind it, Ashby felt his own breath being knocked out of him and, as darkness took over, he was out before he hit the ground.


	8. Malfoy's Mistake

**Vonne: **Thanks so much for all your reviews on this fiction so far. I'm loving hearing from each and every one of you. That being said, I'm sorry it took me so long to update the last chapter. The reason for that was simply just because I like getting a specific amount of reviews per chapter (which for me is ten for each update I submit). Once I get that per chapter I am, of course, willing to submit the next chapter in the fiction up. You can think of it any way you want, but please realize that I am doing this for my satisfaction, as well as yours. So, if you don't like seeing stories being held captive- which I have been accused of- then review, and it won't be held captive for too, too long. Thanks!

Anyway, all the review responses are below. Look and see if you see your name listed!

**Rin5o: **Thanks! You didn't have a question, but you were the first reviewer on this chapter so I thought- why not. HA-HA. Again, thanks for the consistent reviews. I really, really do appreciate it.

**Dramione1996: **HA-HA, actually your review made me change my initial idea.

**Rosebud23: **Thanks a lot! I'm glad you like everything you've read so far. I also love writing the bits between Ron and his siblings- the Weasleys are always fun, aren't they?

**These Trees Rule: **You will sooooonnn finddd outtt. ;)

**QueenCelestaiaxyz: **Sorry if I spelt your pen name wrong. Anyway, thanks for the review. I don't think you asked a question, but I didn't want to leave you out considering you're pretty consistent with reviews. HA-HA. Thanks again! I really do appreciate it.

There were about five more reviews, but I do appreciate the consistent ones. Thanks so much, guys.

For the millionth time I really do appreciate it.

**Chapter Eight  
Malfoy's Mistake**

"En-enervate!" The stammering voice of an unsure intruder came like a boom to Ashby's otherwise peaceful hears. "_E-en-enervate!" _

Irwin Ashby was sitting upright when he woke up, face to face with Draco Malfoy, who looked as shaky as ever. With his wand arm outstretched, his pale face looked just as shoked as Ashby's. He was stumbling, of course, over his own words and looked as if he were about to flop over and faint himself. However, startled at the wake of Ashby, Draco took a slight step backward and slumped heavily against the wall. "Mr. Malfoy," Ashby said wearily, his eyes scanning the room for his own wand, "Mr. Malfoy, please, put down your wand." However, despite Ashby's desperate calls, Malfoy seemed oddly gone. "Mr. Malfoy, can you hear me?" At once Malfoy's eyes flickered and his arm shook with worry. "Draco, please." Ashby's arms were tiredly outstretched and with his own shivering hands, he reached out to lower Malfoy's pale ones. As he averted his gaze to Malfoy's white wrists, his eyes caught sight of the fading black mark on the forearm of Draco Malfoy's bare skin and, beside himself, he thought better than to touch the Malfoy.

Ashby tried again, "Please, Mr. Malfoy, lower your wand. Don't be alarmed. Please, just take a seat here. I can help you if you'd..." There was a brief moment that Ashby prepared to be stunned once more but when no such spell came, he once again advanced himself towards his pale invader. For a second time, Ashby lifted his arms and touched Malfoy's hand, slightly unnerved by the sudden coldness that ran up his own body. At the sense of the therapist's touch, Malfoy's eyes winced back into reality and he shook his head dimly, blinking back at the chubby little man.

"I-I d-didn't m-mean to," he said honestly, his striking eyes searching Ashby's face. The flabby visage of the pudgy therapist was slightly flickered with blood, most of it dry. From the corner of Ashby's mouth, a trail of red scarlet dripped slowly. "Honestly," he said, seemingly afraid of his own voice, "I was only trying to--"

"Mr. Malfoy," Ashby responded, struggling to keep his professionalism. With a shivering wrist, he whipped away the dribble at the edge of his lips and allowed himself to push Malfoy's arm back down to his waist and, much to Ashby's delight, once the thing collided with the boy's side, Malfoy's grip slackened and his wand flickered to the floor. "Please," Ashby said for the third time. He took hold of Malfoy's shoulders, "please just have a seat and then you came tell me what you need to."

"---W-was only t-trying to reverse..." In the midsts of his stuttering, Malfoy had been practically unaware of Ashby's strategy. He was pulled towards the long olive colored couch and pushed down to the cushion, taking away his wand as he backed away. With quick and horrified inhales, Malfoy sat with his long legs outstretched and his shaking hands gripping the crown of his sweaty head. Once he had seated Malfoy, Ashby took a moment for himself and backed away slowly, his large hand on his own rising and falling chest. With wide eyes he stared at Malfoy, unsure whether or not to be angry or worried. However, taking a seat at his own desk, he assumed the same position at Malfoy, taking his head in the palms of his hands.

Heart beating wildly, Ashby started slowly over Malfoy's dizzy murmurs, "You see know why your father has you committed? You're obviously suppressing your entire ordeal. What's just occured is just further proof---"

Malfoy's head jeered up with sudden bitterness, "I am _not _suppressing anything."

"Clearly, you're feeling the need to..."

"You're wrong," Malfoy's chest rose with utter fury and he tried to pull himself up from the couch unsuccessfully, "I'm not suppressing anything. Stop telling me what I am doing! You don't know what I'm feeling. You don't know _anything_ about me."

Ashby's large head sunk lower. "Mr. Malfoy," he said, his eye watching the boy's wand, keeping a rather watchful lookout. "What were you doing in my office?" And, once again, Malfoy's stance faded. He slumped back down onto the couch and burried his head in his hands, shutting his eyes tightly. Despite himself, Ashby could not take his eyes of the faded black shadow that once was the dangerous Dark Mark.

"I was trying to reverse what--- w-what you saw." Draco said honestly, his eyes shut as tight as he could get them. However, when Ashby's mouth opened in response, Malfoy instantly cut him off, "That's all I was trying to do, I swear. I don't know what happened to you when I did it.... when I... I said the spell. You just..." But Ashby didn't need Malfoy to finish, he had just about got the idea by then. Watching Malfoy on the couch, Ashby tucked the boys wand in the desk drawer and withdrew his own. He knew his nerves had ruined the memory charm he had been trying to cast, but his inherited pride had, of course, forbidden him to even utter the fact.

"I'm not angry with you, Mr. Malfoy," Ashby assured the boy, shaking his own large head. However, the reassurance didn't seem to soothe Draco's jittering stomach. Advancing towards Malfoy even further, Ashby continued carefully, "Malfoy, I need to continue doing what I'm doing." Slowly he reminded him, "Not only is it the wish of your father's, but I am also seeing a lot that I can try to help you with. That being said," Ashby inched his way forward towards Malofy on the couch, "I haven't seen much from your memories."

Malfoy's head once again shot upward, "You've seen _plenty_," he said with a jeering tone of voice; his eyes were narrow and cold, but no doubt glistening with tears.

"I'm just doing my job," Ashby added, "as I'm sure you are well aware."

"What I'm aware of," Malfoy's tearful eyes didn't exactly make him as threatening as he'd have hoped, "is that you are over staying your welcome."

"I understand you've gone through your share of rough times," Ashby said, still trying to figure out if he had ever really been welcome, "but so has everyone else. So has---"

"I _know."_ Malfoy's voice was now loud and as angry as ever. "But they didn't... they haven't..." and his head fell again. Forgetting what he had been aiming to say, he muttered sheepishly, "It's not just one memory. It's all of them. I have not seen a good _once _of---"

However, Malfoy's sentence was cut completely short. His mind wasn't completely blocked and at the raise of Ashby's now steady wand, he felt himself slipping farther and farther in the office couch. Malfoy wasn't aware long enough to hear Ashby mutter the spell, but when he opened his eyes, it was clearly evident that he had. He was watching a memory of himself as he stood standing in the middle of a dark and gloomy hallway. The Malfoy in the hallway was just as shaky as he had been in Ashby's office, however he was holding his composure well enough to stand upright next to his father, a tall and pale figure of a man, and his mother, beautiful and horribly captivating.

"Stay calm, Draco," Lucis Malfoy advised his son, patting him slowly on the shoulder. Behind his curtain of long blond hair, Lucis wasn't exactly calm himself, his eyes looked fearful as he examined the slumped back of his only son.

"And stand straight, dear," Narcissa added, trying to keep her own composure. However, she leaned over and very quietly whispered in her son's ear, "don't look him directly in the eye." She said with little sob. And, backing away, she let herself cling onto her husband's sweaty side, "you'll be fine, sweetheart." Draco remained silent, although he wasn't given much of a chance to respond; the two doors in front of the family swung open and an anxious looking Wormtail stood in the rather large threshold. He called out to Draco alone and Narcissa's hand lingered on Draco's shoulder until he'd walked far enough away to falter from her grasp. Both Lucius and Narcissa watched their son stride forward towards Peter Pettigrew and he looked back at his parents with a frightened glance. With a loud clang the doors shut behind their son and the remaining Malfoy's stood simpering in the darkness.

From his spot looking down at his own memory, Malfoy watched himself follow a quick moving Pettigrew, trying hard to focus on his feet and his own steady movements. Each stone wall was lit with a flickering bulb, and horrified paintings on the wall yelled in his ear as they passed. He ignored the horrible things they screamed at him, ignored their desperate warnings and his stomach flipped with each and every terrified call out to him. He followed the stout little man until he reached a second pair of large doors and Pettigrew sent a wide smile in his direction. "The Dark Lord awaits you, Draco." And as Draco stepped forward, Peter placed a large hand on Draco's shoulder and shoved him forward with such force that Draco stumbled through the doors and had to hurry to regain his straight posture. When he did regain himself, he found that he was staring at the dark shadow of a man, his hands laid out on the arm rests of a large chair.

There was a slither behind him and Mafloy's heart leapt when he saw the long, thick snake. "Here, Nagani," called the dark shadow and the jitters in the pit of Malfoy's stomach picked up again. At once, the great snake slid across the stone floor and made its way up the top of the big arm chair. Once it reached the very tip, it steered its big head out in Malfoy's direction and hissed maliciously. "So," Lord Voldemort said in a voice that sounded snake-like on its own, "tell me, Draco, how is Albus Dumbledore?"

Draco abided his mother's advice, and looked at his feet rather than the yellow eyes of the half-rotting man, "D-d-d---"

"Spit it out!" There came a roar from behind him and Wormtail's face glowered in the darkness. He sent Malfoy yet another smug grin. However, Voldemort turned from Malfoy to the pudgy man, matching his grin. At once the man cowered and showed himself out to the door on the side, cowering low and fearful for his own life.

At the realization that the two had once again been left alone, Voldemort raised his chin, allowing the stumbling Malfoy to continue. "H-he's d-dead, My L-Lord."

Voldemort's own striking voice shot through the open air like a knife, "By your own hand?"

"N-N--"

"You mean to tell me, Draco, that you do not wish to follow my orders?"

"N-no, Sir, p-please," Draco Malfoy knew that Voldemort had already known of his failure and, his posture faltering, he tried to keep himself as steady as he'd always aimed to be. "I-I w-was--"

"What you were doing, Malfoy," Voldemort spoke with so much confidence that Malfoy's shoulder slunk lower and lower, "was _doubting_. Am I to understand that you do not wish to serve me?" Malfoy stammered on the spot and Voldemort's hiss cut him off, "Am I to understand that you are working out of mere fear, rather than loyalty?" Once again Malfoy stammered on the spot. However, Voldemort's tone of voice turned even more threatening, "Do not lie to me, Draco."

Draco Malfoy's clammy palms dripped sweat and, feverishly, he tried to hide them behind his back. He whipped him on his black trousers and said to his feet, "M-My Lord, I s-s-swear t--"

"Look at me, Draco," Voldemort ordered in a sing-song voice and Malfoy's heart stopped. "Look at me, Draco. Do as I say!" Malfoy's head whipped up and instantly Voldemort saw the young boy for what he was. Malfoy's pale face looked weary from sleepless nights. His blond hair hung low in a slant across his forehead. And even thought Malfoy had tried to hid them, Voldemort could even see the dark bags under his eyes. However, Voldemort wasted no time. He abruptly raised his wand and said in a cut throat voice, "_Crucio!"_

Even watching the memory from behind the tall and thick pillar, Malfoy could remember feeling the pain that erupted in his very chest. It had began as if someone had socked him in his stomach and he doubled over with a desperate gasp for air. As if his brain had become oblivious to anything around his but his own pain, Malfoy became desperate in his search for air. On the ground of the cold floor, Draco crumbled into a tight ball and let out a little cry. There ran an electrifying chill up his quivering spine and he felt his back involuntarily arch. Something was burning, but it wasn't his flesh. As if his bones were fully engulfed in invisible flames, Draco's insides churned and burned mercilessly. His entire body reeled and, jerking backward, his chin hit the stone and, violently, he felt himself clench down on his tongue.

From his spot wriggling on the ground, Malfoy was in too much pain to cry out for mercy. Instead, he groped his stomach, sweat dripping down his forehead. "You know what happens when people lie to me, Draco Malfoy," Voldemort was saying as he drew closer. His wand was held directly out at Malfoy, but there was a calm satisfaction in the Dark Lord's voice. "I know you know- you've seen what happens to those who lie."

There was a strain in Malfoy's throat and around the two of them echoed the sound of a dying animal from Malfoy's dry throat. He couched, horrified, and attempted to lift himself with his burning arms. Unsuccessfully he flopped to the ground again, once more gasping for air that he only thought he needed. "_Crucio!_" Shouted Voldemort again and the yelping from Malfoy worsened. "Tell me, Draco, why was it Severus who had to finally end the life of Albus Dumbledore?" But Draco couldn't quite answer for himself. The blood pooling out the side of his mouth was forming a little puddle by his cheek, and the cuts on the side of his pale face stung as if on flames. He sobbed in tiny chokes until finally, Voldemort lowered his wand and the fire inside Draco Malfoy slackened.

He resided still panting on the floor, tears soaked his pale face. However, he found no strength to move and instead lay coughing and sputtering as if he'd only just drowned. The stinging feeling slowly subsided, but he stayed as still as he would as if the curse had killed him. Voldemort withdrew a barefoot and cast aside Draco's bleeding cheek, tutting as if the wound were an absolute shame. "Get up," he commanded furiously and when Draco didn't dare move, he let himself yell, "get up!" Malfoy watched himself flicker and his slippery hands grabbed hold of a large round pillar, pulling himself up to a swaying stance. Blood dripped in his white blond hair and onto his black suit. "Can I trust that I have your loyalty?" Malfoy nodded and Voldemort headed back to the rather large sitting chair, "speak up."

"Y-y-ye-yes, my Lord," Malfoy croaked.

"Good." Voldemort said and, with a flick of his wand the front doors of the shadowy room flung open, "you may go now."

At once Malfoy began his stumble out of the dreary room, clinging onto the walls as he went down them slowly. With one hand on his aching gut, he stumbled by his parents. Narcissa's face was streaked with tears and Lucius held on to her tightly, as if acting like her human kickstand. Narcissa called out, "Draco..." but their son bitterly ignored them. He shot the two of them a hateful glance before vanishing behind the turns of the hallway and out of sight.

* * *


	9. Watcher

**Vonne:** Hey guys! I'm so glad to keep getting story alerts in my email, but I don't see a lot of reviews to match the alerts. Please submit any reviews of this that you feel necessary. It doesn't have to be a good review or a bad review- I really do like hearing from you. Thank you!

**Reidluver: **I know! I adore J.K's ideas, but it has always bugged me that she didn't let us know what happened to Draco when he'd returned back after Dumbledore's murder. I do think, though, that Voldemort had to have been pretty angry. Anyway, thanks for the review! I hope you like the next chapter as well.

**Rosebud23: **Yes! A completely Draco-centric chapter! I'm glad you liked it, hopefully you'll like this Draco-centric chapter, too.

**Rin5o: **Yep. :) I'm not sure if that was a positive review, but whether or not if it was, I hope you like this chapter better.

**Dramione1996: **HA-HA oh good. Draco's just a fun character to write- him and Won-Won.

**PuppyLove2006: **Thanks for the reviews. I'm glad you liked what you've read so far. I really appreciate that you review, even if it is on an unsigned account. :) Thanks again- appreciate it!

* * *

**Chapter Nine  
Watcher**

Sitting hunched low in his office chair, Ashby resided clutching his own head with a pair of sweaty palms. His head felt massive and the throbbing sensation emitting from his skull made him hot and sweaty. On top of this, the rather large and heavy ball that sat in the center of his cranium made it impossible to make any sudden movement. Passing time with his own absolute misery, Ashby found it hard not to blame one Draco Malfoy for his absolute suffering and, to take his mind of his own personal accusations, he stared lamely at the stack of notes piled up on his desk. However, despite his efforts, he couldn't help but shake as he held the rorschach card out in front of him with bitter resentment. "Now," he said trying desperately not to wince, "tell me, what does this look like to you?"

Sitting across from his quivering therapist, Ron chewed confused on his bottom lip. To him, the blotch of ink looked like exactly that-- a black blotch of ink. "It's," he said slowly, as if he were afraid to give the wrong answer, "it's supposed to look like something?" At his desk, Ashby sighed bitterly. If he hadn't been feeling so horrible, he would have gladly explained that yes, the rorschach blots were in fact supposed to resemble something. He would have mentioned that they served a rather useful purpose, as well. On a normal day where his head didn't feel as if it could fall to the ground at any waking moment, he would have simply said how Muggles used the cards to determine the state of mind of someone else, opposed to the magical use of Legimacy. Shutting his eyes in absolute frustration, Ashby wished he had been given permission to use the spell on the Weasley.

"There is no right or wrong answer to this, Ronald," Ashby told him. "If you please, analyze this cluster of ink and tell me the first thing you think of." His instructions were short and obviously forced, however, it seemed to have worked. Ron leaned forward, scratching his red head, and squinted at the card hopefully.

"Uhm," he slurred, peering at the dingy test, "Er-- it looks like a... b-butterfly?" And once his mouth uttered what he'd considered to be a precise answer, he leaned away from the ink covered sheet and nodded, almost too confidently.

"Is that a question?" Ashby's eyes half closed.

Ron's petty confidence once again vanished. "Err-- no?"

Hermione Granger had seen the deadly grim in the ink spatter; Harry Potter, a patronus doe. George Weasley could make out nothing more that an array of clouds, while his little sister, Ginny saw the towering Burrow that she had always called home. He sighed at how easy his previous participants had been during their sessions and, sitting stunned at the last remaining patient, Ashby vowed to never use a rorschach test again. There was a moment of sheer silence and Ashby let his head wobble down to his own still chest. "Alright, Mr. Weasley," Ashby said timidly. He dropped the cards back down on his messy desk and cocked his pulsating head toward the front of his office. "That will be all for today. Thank you." Ron stammered at his spot in the seat for a moment and then, with an uneasy inhale, stood to take his leave.

In his weary walk out of the door, Ron heard Ashby emit a frustrated groan the moment he shut the door behind him. However, overlapping the miserable moan, Hermione's gleeful yell rung like a song through Ron's otherwise tired head. "Ron!" She said, and her slender figure came bobbing down the hallway, "Ron, how was it?" When she reached him she collided gently with his chest and smiled up at him lightly.

"Fine," Ron said, choosing not to mention the befuddling rorschach cards.

"Fine?" Hermione said, raising an eyebrow, but she didn't seem to want to press the issue any further. "Come on, Ron," she said, slipping her fingers in between Ron's, "you've missed breakfast already. Come eat some lunch with us." She sweetly led him down the corridor and only when the two of them entered through the threshold into the rather bright courtyard did Ron realize how hungry he actually was. With his hand still holding Hermione's, he allowed her to lead him to the bench at the table and watched her scoot the plate of food towards him anxiously. There was something bitter sweet about staring at the group around him; the sight of George without Fred made any possibility of catching Ron in a good mood fly out the hypothetical window.

It had never been too long of a time that Ron had gone without thinking of Fred however, like a brick his older brother's absence hit him hard. Over the voice of his best friend, Ron heard nothing but silence. Reading Harry's lips, however, Ron could tell that he had said, "I don't see the point of those cards. Why not just ask me what I'm thinking about in the first place?" Harry stuffed a huge hunk of meat into his mouth and said with an attempted smile, "I mean, why try to dance around the subject?" If Fred were alive, Ron wondered what he'd have to say about he pointless little cards.

Ron's eyes passed back and forth between the group, finally resting on his brother. George's faux smile looked too much like George's; Harry's attempt at joyful laughter had only morphed into the sound of his mother's nightly sobbing. Pondering his sudden burst of misery, Ron wondered why all of this sadness had suddenly snuck up on him. There had been a time that Ron had thought he was truly pulling himself through his ordeal- thought he would be able to eventually pick himself up...

"Actually," he said in a voice that sounded like a faint whisper, "I'm not really that hungry." From his spot on the bench, Ron saw Harry's face flicker and he exchanged a befuddled glance with a clearly worried Hermione. "What?" he said, slightly defensive, "I'm just not that hungry, is all. It's not unusual."

George raised his eyebrow and Ron had to look away. "For you it is," he said timidly. But Ron insisted; he slowly pushed the little porcelain plate away from his and withdrew himself from the bench.

"Hey," Harry said meekly, "where are you going, mate?" However, Ron was already far enough away from the group to not hear Harry's call. With his nervous stomach fluttering wildly, Ron's hands rose to his whizzing temples as his eyes clenched tightly shut. In the darkness of his shut eyelids, the image of the black ink blotch butterfly slowly formed itself into Fred's lifeless face.

* * *

**Draco Malfoy's POV:**

_2:00 am_  
For the record, let it be known that contrary to popular belief, I do not sit and sulk in my bedroom night after painstakingly gruesome night. Of course, Ashby isn't aware of this and I like to keep it that way. Ashby's lack of knowledge, in fact, has kept me going during this whole session. This ounce of freedom in the middle of the night, it's what I currently live for. And now I take full advantage of it as I sit, dressed despite the time of day. My breath is slow and, shaking slightly in my thin white button-up, it takes me a rather long while to notice how animalistic I currently am. Shrinking away, I slacken my posture and try to act acceptable.

Perched on the windowsill of my bedroom, I try to remain as unnoticed as I've so recently desired to be and for the first time during my stay I find myself oddly alert, though I am not really expecting anything. The wind outside swirls around me harshly and under the starry sky I watch the shadowy figure that has been hiding underneath the large willow tree for several hours. It is slumped and miserable and I keep myself still and statuesque as I spy. There is a little sob that emits from the distance and I know that the pathetic moan has come from the outsider before me. He has been crying like this for as long as I've been watching. The newest sob is dry and concluding and, listening to the fading cries, I decide that the shadowy figure has given up on his misery.

About what Ashby saw the other night-- I was starting to feel my anger towards this privacy invasion slacken. It was, unfortunately, not the worst of my memories, even though it may have been one of the more scarring. Still I can feel the ache in my head, and I've never been able to forget the burning that infiltrated my bones. However, it is the face of the half-deceased Voldemort that I cannot seem to drop. His yellow eyes continue to scan my miserable face, his high-pitched voice still echos about my brain. I think of his laugh every time I hear someone else do so. A lantern in the pitch darkness looks like nothing more to me than the end of Dark Lord's stick-like wand.

It wasn't that I wasn't once confident about my position at one time in my life, because saying so would a lie. I had remembered a time before I had been given orders of murder where I had never been so sure. The future, as it had seemed, could not have looked any brighter. And it wasn't that I'd wanted a dark reign over the Wizarding World because, honestly, I didn't quite know what I'd wanted. An unsuccessful therapist once told me that I'd acted how I'd acted because of my parents. But on this hypothesis I do not have a position of argument-- I couldn't really recall what I'd been thinking over the past several years. I'd been oddly numb for the time being, unable to really feel. I still haven't truly felt much, either. The unsuccessful therapist had told also told me that in order to feel I needed to let go. "Let go of the past, Draco," he'd said so calmly, "it is the only way to fully move on."

Ashby had told me differently. He'd said, "Extreme pain is bound to happen to everyone. In fact, it's bound to happen to you again." On a bitter note, he'd added, "Own up to what you've done! It may have not been your choice- and I do believe that you were born into your position- you've got to accept it. You did what you did and there's no going back. What's moving on if you haven't truly done so? Mourn! Mourn in actions and words. Cry, if you have to. And once you get it all out- once you honestly get it all out- move forward." Ashby said even further, "there's no set steps to moving past through your trauma. But it _is_ possible."

Possible, huh? I'd never heard something so cliché.

There is a sudden movement in the bushes behind the figure and the two of us freeze. Instantly the figure whips out his wand and he wastes no time as he hisses, "Lumos!" at the night. I can tell from my spot on the high up window sill that the figure has been Weasley all along. Ron is still in his attempts to locate his intruder and, hastily he whips his sweater coated arm across his face to rid himself of tears. His red hair is plastered to his face with sweat and his eyes are wide with suspicion. I hold my breath and hope to God he doesn't spot me. "Who's there?" Weasley's voice is undoubtedly shaky and no matter how fearless he tries to sound, all his efforts at bravery vanish as his jumpy voice cracks. "Who--is--out--there?"

Not another moment goes by and from the darkness a second figure reveals itself. The intruder holds their hands up as if being threatened, and steps gently into the light. "It's me!" cries the voice of a quivering female, "it's _me_, Ron. Just me." Even before she speaks I know that it is Hermione Granger. In the little light her pale face looks worried and desperate. Her face resembles the expression of my mother and I bite my lower lip impulsively. "Ron, I've been looking for you for hours- have you been here the whole time? Right here?" Even from so high up I can see her eyes as they scan the spot under the tree before the two of them. She looks absolutely shocked, as if she hadn't expected such behavior from Ron. Slightly bewildered, Ron lowers his wand arm and Hermione's upheld arms follow. They stand in the lowered light of Ron's wand tip that elluminates their feet.

"Yeah, Hermione," Ron says beck at her anxiously and at once she advances forward. Ron stumbled back away from her.

"Oh, Ron," she says, shaking her bushy head. She lifts her left arm and cups the redhead's pale cheek. For a long moment the two stay frozen in that way and, as if suddenly realizing this, Ron winces her hand away from his face. She lingers before him for a moment and then blinks timidly. "I knew it. I knew there was something wrong when you skipped lunch today. Ron," there is a hint of sorrow in her serious tone of voice, "Ron, it's going to be okay."

"No," Ron says, and his back hits the trunk of the massive tree. He looks back at her as if she's just transformed into someone else. "No, Hermione, it's not going to be okay." With his back now pressed up against the tree trunk, he allows himself to slide down to his feet and I hear him whisper, "It's not going to be okay. I lost Fred-- No, I lost him and it seems like I've lost George, too. It can't get any worse. This is it... this is rock bottom."

I watch above him, only with a minute amount of pity. Trust me, Weasley, I've seen worse.

With a little flop, Hermione kneels tenderly at Ron's side and this time rests her hand on his lowered shoulder. "Ron," she says, meekly at first. However, when he doesn't quite look up at her, her voice turns shrilly stern, "Look at me. Ron, listen to me." She says the last part with tiny breaks between each word. Her voice isn't cold, but bitter with absolute honesty, "no matter how hard it gets, it--can--_always_--get--worse." Ron's mouth opens to interject but Hermione's finger brushes over his anxious mouth, "you're not at rock bottom and, if you were, you're not alone. We're all with you-- I'm with you." I can tell by her own tone that she has started to cry. "You may have had a couple of set backs, but you can't be miserable your whole life. Progression doesn't work that way. It--- what?"

Ron's shoulders slightly scratch the bark and he shrugs the up and then lowers them back down. "Nothing," he says and his frown raises ever so slightly.

Hermione's once worried gaze falters and she looks as serious as ever. "No, _really." _

_"Nothing." _Ron assures her, but he adds on to further explain, "I just find it amazing that you've successfully memorized the pages of Ashby's therapy books. Incredible." However, despite himself, I can tell that he has found a smile to spread across his tear-stained face. Hermione shifts her fingers away from Ron's mouth and slaps him lightly across the shoulder.

"I'm serious, Ron," she says, half giggling and half trying to keep her composure. The water on her own face glistens in the star light and I pray that I will remain further unnoticed.

"Okay, okay," it is now Ron's turn to lift his hands up in his own defense. Weasley wipes the remaining tears from his face and lets the bright red hair flop in his face. With a shaky inhale, Ron's eyes narrow at Hermione and he leans his head slowly on her shoulder across from him. "Thanks, Hermione." He says, "I still feel the same way, though. Remember that." Hermione lets out a laugh of her own as if on cue. She pets Ron's head of hair and grabs him anxiously by the chin.

"Come on," she says timidly, "lets get back to the center." And, shrugging, she says girlishly, "we'll have a late night dinner date, you've got to be starving. What do you say?" I don't hear Ron's answer but by the looks of it he's pleased Hermione. She laughs and smiles widely as he offers her a hand, pulling her to her steady feet. In the quiet moment that I watch the two of them advance towards me oblivious, I press my eyes shut. However, when they pass me holding hands, I realize that I am surely in the clear. With the two of them gone, I am left by myself staring out at the nothingness. It is oddly lonely without the sound of Weasley's sobs and Granger's reassurance.

Their footsteps sound around the center and Ron's now uplifting voice says echoing, "How'd you know I was out there, anyway?"

Hermione sniffles, "Hm," she says, regaining herself from her once miserable state, "Intuition."

Intuition, a trait that I haven't had for quite some time. It is a miserable thing, you know, loosing a once valued gift.

And perched in the sky I wait, but for what I am not entirely sure. Whether it be for a rustle in the bushes, or my own personal savior, neither of the two come. I could dive directly off this perch and not a single person would be there to pick up my mangled pieces. I could jump to a sure death on the ground below me and not a solitary person here would give a damn. I'm not going to jump, but it is disheartening to face the fact that my passing might be just another event. Just another misconstrued tragedy.

Dumbledore's life tragedy was his defeat of Grindlewald. Harry Potter's was the loss of both his parents. The Weasleys had lost one of their very own.

Is this it? Is this my life's deeply downward spiral?

* * *

**Vonne: **_Please, please, please review_! I really love hearing from you.


	10. Hide and Seek

**Vonne: **Thanks so much for all the reviews. As always, I really do appreciate them. I've said this before- I love seeing that many of you put my story on alert, but I really want to hear back from you. Of course, something is better than NOTHING, but I do have a requirement when I post stories on the website. Someone asked me here how many reviews it takes for me to want to update on my fictions. Usually my answer is about ten reviews per chapter. So, please, humor me, at least. I don't even care if the reviews are negative; tell me if I've messed up, if I should focus on some other subject more. You can even tell me what you'd like to see come up as this progresses. It's all welcome to me.

That being said, I have gotten a great amount of reviews I require for updating. Please, again- humor me.  
Anyway, check your name below for any responses I may have for your reviews. Maybe you're down there? :)

**Rosebud23: **You ask, you get! HA-HA. Hopefully this chapter is chalk full of Draco memories for you. Of course, keep a look out for the next chapter. There will be much, much more in the next chapter coming up.

**Dramione1996: **HA-HA it's okay to be confused. I'll try to clarify anything you might have been confused with below. Hopefully this helps:  
Unlike the others at the therapy center, Draco has therapy sessions with Ashby at midnight, due to the request of his father. After Draco's sessions he feels consistently confused and sick, for the most part due to his guilt. In the last chapter, Draco is watching a conversation between Ron and Hermione in the backyard of the therapy center. Ron, like Draco, is having somewhat of a meltdown and Hermione is there to pick him back up. It is this realization that he is all alone that ultimately pushes Draco to face reality. That's all that's really happened so far concerning Chapter nine. Hopefully that's helped you and if not, I'll further explain anything else you need to know. Sorry about the confusion. I'm trying to write as clearly as I can.

**Rin5o: **I love that you're so constant with your reviews. Good or bad, it's all good to me. So, thanks again. :)

**Reidluver: **I know! Ugh, killing off Fred was absolutely horrible. I remember reading that part in the book and having to re-read it over and over to make sure that it really happened. Horrible, but I think that it made me realize how horrible JK was trying to make the battle. By killing him off, she just showed how brutal everything got.

**These Trees Rule: **Guess you're going to have to keep reading to find out. ;)

* * *

**Chapter Ten  
Hide and Seek**

_Malfoy Manor  
Months Earlier, 11:00pm _

_Click. Click. Click._

_Sheer white curtains draped the window sill loose and ghost-like, rushing forward in the gust of wind that flowed through the house. Like a phantom, they whirled around the figure that sat before them, hunched over on the bed with his hands upholding his very head. Through the view under the dark shadow, there was seemingly nothing to the figure that sat so still in front of the window. Under the bleakness, the darkness concealed his pale white face and made him almost uninteresting. Although, it was from a closer perspective that the figure's timid face really resembled that of a boy, alone and distraught. Under his stony face were two black bag and beneath his set of thin lips was the mark of a cut just barely beginning to heal. There was a look of pure misery in his dazed eyes, but it was impossible to ignore the anger that lurked in his dreamy visage. And there was no mistaking the discontent that currently defined him; his fingers dug into his throbbing temples, and his pieced breath came out in sections. The shadowy figure inhaled deeply and endured the sinking feeling in his chest._

_The curtains blew open and barely brushed the boy's forward arched back. In the white moonlight, Draco Malfoy blinked down at his shoes, black leather and perfectly polished. Physically, despite his beaten and bruised face, he was the picture of glowing perfection. He was surely striking with his cold eyes and, even angered and shaking, he'd managed to pull off looking sleek and rather composed. However, there was a little sob that shook in his throat and only once did he let it escape from his throat. Afterward and befuddled, he smoothed back his shockingly blond hair and regained himself. Oh sweet tranquility, oh faltering dignity. _

_Click. Click. Click. _

_Malfoy looked up. Outside his door echoed the pacing footsteps of an unknown someone; Wormtail most likely had been put watch on the room's front exit. But Malfoy wasn't as trapped as the other Death Eaters had assumed him to be. They had, of course, underestimated the boy. He was young, sure, but he wasn't stupid. If he wanted to, he could find someway to leave the black room, for there were many hidden exit ways. However, it was something else that kept Draco rooted to the spot on the hardened bed. The room he sat it, it used to be his room; there was a collection of Slytherin Quidditch posters on the wall and family photos that lined the top of the dressers. An old letter lay open on the floor underneath him, Pansy Parkinson's neat handwriting was sprawled across the parchment. She wrote, among other things, "I, as everyone else does, know that Dumbledore is dead. Why have you kept me in the dark about all this, Draco? I don't know what the Dark Lord has planned, and I don't pretend to, but my guess is that he has given you a great mission to complete. Draco, this is a blessing and an honor-- just remember that."_

_When he'd first read it he'd laughed. A blessing, she says? An honor, she says? Because Draco didn't quite see it that way. He'd once overheard his father speaking with his mother during a late night. His father had described to her the same blessing, "Narcissa," he'd said, once he'd had her calm and still, "this is a blessing in disguise." To Draco it had only been the other way around-- a horrible destiny disguised as some great blessing. But that was beside the point. Blessing or no, he'd failed and the old letter sat as a mockery. Pansy hadn't written him back in months, no doubt due to word of Draco's let down. And although it wasn't Pansy he cared about, it was the idea of the failed blessing that truly haunted him. Outside the clicking noises of Peter Pettigrew's shoe soles continued and Draco huffed to conceal his jittery butterflies. _

_Click. Click. Click. There was the sound of hushed whispering and suddenly the clicking stopped. _

_Draco looked up from his bed and he felt his heart plummet. The door to his room opened and standing in the doorframe was Bellatrix. She looked excited and her beautifully captivating smile shone through the night like a Cheshier cat's. "Draco," she said with a simper that was oddly sultry and sadistic, "you've been given permission to come down now." Slowly Draco pulled himself up off the mattress and moved towards his deranged aunt. Bellatrix brushed his cheek as he passed, the smile still lingering on her dirty visage. "Follow the snake," she advised and out of the shadows slithered the great reptile, hissing as it looked up at Draco and then back down the staircase. The long animal led the way past Wormtail, who had taken to talking to himself, and down the grand steps. Behind him, Bellatrix skipped downward after him and, in order to not appear nervous, he had to grip the sturdy railing just to keep himself on his feet. The kissing doors to the great dining room stood like a menace and Bellatrix whispered for her nephew to open them. _

_Sure enough behind the two large doors sat the cluster of stone-faced Death Eaters. At Draco's arrival the face of the half-rotting human smiled at him. He beckoned him forward with his long stick-like fingers and said with a high-pitched voice, "Ah, Draco, please sit." Instinct took over and Draco scanned the table for the faces of his parents. When he didn't spot either of them, he felt as if he could faint. The blood drained from his face and as if Voldemort had noticed this, the Dark Lord's smile flickered with satisfaction. Bellatrix strode forward, but Voldemort's eyes did not move away from the young blond, "Ah, Bellatrix, that will be all." Bellatrix Black looked as if he'd just socked her in the face. She stood for a moment in the space between the table and the door and then, with a little sob, made her way out of the dining room and left the remaining Death Eaters in their newfound silence. _

_It was as if the Unforgivable Curse had never happened all those days ago; Voldemort did not pay any attention to the black and blue marks on the side of Draco's head, did not seem to mind that the skin on the bottom of his chin was only just beginning to heal. However, Draco assumed his position at the table nearest the menacing man and held his spotted breath. As always, his eyes flickered to the shine that shone blatantly on his black shoes. Voldemort's mouth opened ever so slightly, but to Draco, it looked as if he were about to completely consume the entire space in front of him. "Draco," Voldemort said slowly, "it has been discussed that you assume your return back to Hogwarts in the upcoming months." _

_Back? Draco's breathing was put on hold. "B-but," he said forgetting any manners, "I c-can't-- go back. I can't go back t-there. Everyone--"_

_"No one can prove anything." Voldemort assured him. "Your return, Draco, is not a question. You will go back and keep an eye out for Potter." Draco gapped in disbelief, but Voldemort motioned to the man on his opposite side welcomingly, "you will be under supervision, of course. Severus Snape is the new Headmaster of Hogwarts." The rest was a blur. At Voldemort's side sat Severus Snape, perfect in posture. His face was sheer white, but he had looked as composed as Draco only wished to appear. His eyes sat fixed on Draco and Draco's eyes now stared back at him. Professor Snape, the man who Draco had once looked up to, appeared to be nothing more than an amused black crow, watchful of Draco's every last move. _

_"S-Snape?" Draco could only manage to mutter, "H-head--Headmaster?" _

_And then Voldemort's voice cut through the air once again, "You will complete this mission, Draco. Am I right?" Draco could only find the strength to nod for the sake of his parents, for the sake of the name of Malfoy. "Good," Voldemort's raspy voice said, "that will be all." And he raised his wand at Draco Malfoy's chest. Before he was jinxed unconscious, Draco Malfoy was almost positive he saw Snape flinch for a fraction of a second before regaining his strangely straight composure. The body of Draco Malfoy went instantly limp and he slunk forward in his chair, colliding with the edge of the table before being knocked to the ground. Neither men rose to their feet and Draco's body lay mangled on the floor, utterly ignored. Blood trickled from the spot where he'd hit his head and the healing look he'd had about his face was instantly ruined. _

_Severus Snape said carefully, "Should I call Wormtail to remove him?" Why Voldemort had knocked out Draco was slightly curious in the mind of Severus Snape, but he teetered between the idea that Draco was becoming a slight bother in the house. _

_"Wormtail!" Voldemort raised his wand and the kissing doors whipped open. Wormtail, who had been standing outside them the whole time, looked up in fear at the call of his own name. "Take out the trash, would you?" And he nudged the cheek of Draco Malfoy with his bare foot. At the sight of the body Wormtail's eyes widened. He looked to Snape slightly fearful, but when he was given nothing of a glance in return, he approached the body and looped his arms under Draco Malfoy's. When he felt the faint pulse of the boy his nerves slightly rested. However, besides continuing the raise the boy from the ground with his hands, Wormtail lifted up his own shaky wand._

_"Levacorpus!" He said harshly. Before the three pairs of eyes, the boy was whisked off the ground into the air. The body dangled upside down before the group and then, wasting no time, Wormtail lead the floating body out of the dining room and through the great doors of the Malfoy Manor._

_

* * *

_

_1:00 am  
Present Time, Dr. Ashby's Therapy Center  
_

The sudden rush about the air was what initially woke Draco Malfoy up from his sleep. He was sitting slumped against the large tree trunk outside the grounds of the therapy center, looking around oddly confused. There was a whoosh of wind around him and the scarf wrapped around his neck wriggled around in the air before him. Behind the large tree trunk, the center was pitch black and there was not a sound about him. Ron and Hermione had probably eaten what they'd needed and gone off to sleep. As it so appeared, Draco was absolutely alone and, breathing hard, he scanned the space around him. In the darkness, the emerald grass shone at his feet and, dizzily, his eyes only just started to blink back into focus. The realization that he'd missed Ashby's therapy session hit him softly and, lightened by the fact, he managed a little smile despite his sheer confusion.

Back up against the tree, Draco was sure he'd missed his therapy session with Ashby. Something in his chest lightened and, for a single moment, he found himself lightly satisfied. As if a heavy weight had been lifted off his chest, he was relaxed knowing that he had somehow managed to escape another mind-numbing session. Sinking, he relaxed, shutting his stinging eyes and swallowing a rather large lump in his croaky throat. The wind blew lightly against his blank face and, oddly enough, Draco was beginning to feel slightly safe. However, the peaceful feeling vanished as he heard something rustle in the trees around him. Draco's eyes flew open and he sat still with a perplexed look mounted on his newly drained face. "Hello?" He asked the nothingness.

He heard a little whisper behind him and he spun around; no one was in sight. The uplifting feeling he'd once felt was instantly gone with the notion that he was not alone outside. Nothing that he could see stood hidden behind the clustered green bushes. He stood up, despite his blindness, and scanned the area, now taking on the same vulnerable loneliness that Ron had taken only hours before by the very tree. "_Lumos!" _he whispered and when the tip of his wand only light up miserably he corrected himself hastily, _"Lumos maxima!" _Draco swerved around and the icy feeling in his chest intensified. "I know you're there!" He shouted rather manically, "come out where I can see you!" For a moment, nothing emerged, but then, out from the darkness, Ashby showed himself bitterly, his hands held high in a surrender above his head. "You!" Draco shouted, tightening his grip on his now steady wand.

"Draco," once again Ashby coaxed the blond boy, "put down your wand. I've come looking for you. You haven't shown up to your session and you weren't in your--"

"I waited for you." Draco said suspiciously, his wand still outstretched at Ashby's heaving chest, "you never checked up on me tonight." Although the accusation was not something Draco had known for sure; no matter how hard he racked his brain, all he could remember was his time on the window ledge and he walk past both Mort's and Ashby's dimly lit offices. However, Draco's bluff prooved to be somewhat accurate. Ashby's shoulders sunk and his slightly stone-faced expression deflated. With a little sigh, Ashby strode forward, this time more comfortably.

"I fell asleep--"

"You don't 'fall asleep'. I see you up all the time reviewing your silly little files." Draco's wand didn't quiver.

Ashby, of course, spoke rather quickly. He said matter-of-factly, "well if I hadn't been feeling a bit under the weather..." Instantly Draco lowered his hand and let it fall loosely at his side. His entire person took a bit of a sorrowful stance and he looked back at Ashby with a mix of hatred and defeat. "Now, let's just go inside, alright? You'll feel better once you've better relaxed."

"I was relaxed," Draco muttered, picking up his scarf from the ground and, wasting no time, Ashby hurried forward and grabbed hold of Draco's free arm. Curiously, Draco looked up at Ashby with a raised eyebrow and allowed himself to be pulled several feet before interjecting. "I was relaxed out here by myself. That's some sort of therapeutic technique, isn't it?" He stopped moving his feet and rooted himself on the spot only several feet from the large tree. "Personal solitary?" Draco's last words were desperate and pleading and with a little pull he tried to release his arm. Ashby, however, seemed to have different plans.

The thick fingers that belonged to Ashby remained rooted into Draco's clammy flesh. With an expression that was rather annoyed, he said, "Draco, stop. I've had enough of your--"

Draco's eyes, however, blatantly narrowed. "Ashby, let go of me." With a sudden gust of strength, Draco whisked his arm free from Ashby's tight grasp and he stood across from him momentarily, pressing him with a look of sheer disbelief. When the moment had passed, Draco teetered in his spot and made his way back to the tree for his previously forgotten leather shoes.

"No!" Hastily Ashby strode forward and harshly seized Draco by the roots of his hair. It took no longer than a second; Draco's back arched and, upside down, he looked back up at Ashby. There was a desperate hint about him that sparkled obviously in the hint of night. His eyes were bloodshot and, in the light of the moon, they bore into Draco's. "You're not going anywhere, Mr. Malfoy. You're coming with me." Draco's arms raised and he tried vastly to free himself. He was unsuccessful and Ashby, with a strong grip, dragged the boy by his blond hair along the dewy grass.

"Let me go!" Draco grunted, but Ashby spun around, his wand threateningly out. With a little gab, Ashby poked the thing at the spot between Draco's eyes.

Ashby said in a voice that Draco had never head from him before, "Do not test me."

At the tip of the wand, Draco's eyes crossed and he remembered with a strike of fear that his wand was stashed away someplace in Ashby's clustered office. He let out a little yelp at the tug from his scalp and made a quick move to dive at Ashby's wand. It was Ashby's turn to yell. Diving to save himself from Draco's desperate notion, Ashby's hard grip released Draco's hair and, at the realization of his release, Draco's feet carried him faster and farther than he'd ever thought he could sprint. Heaving fearfully, Draco carried himself past the large tree trunk and, behind him, heard the sound of Ashby's loud holler, "_Steupify!" _A gust of light shot towards him and Draco ducked, barely missing the harsh curse. Behind him, Ashby took off, running rather fast for a man of his size. From his mouth he shouted stunning spell after another. "Draco Malfoy! Come back here! _Steupify!" _

But Draco was far from giving in to Ashby's demands; he ran through the center grounds and broke through the cluster of massive trees. Ashby's footsteps rushed on behind him and Draco's breath was running thin. Fearful, Draco's eyes scanned the open forest; it was messy with trees and bushes. Discarded branches and twigs lay around his feet and with every fast step he dodged them. It was a part of the center he had never seen before and he wondered how far he had to run to fully escape Ashby and his building. "Malfoy!" Came Ashby's voice, half pleading and half angry. "Malfoy! Come back here! Your father---"

But his calls were drowned out by Draco's running mind. His father. What would his father do if he knew his son had been running?

_"Steupify! STEUPIFY! _Draco! Draco!" And there there was utter silence. Draco had stopped running, his hands on his knees, he scanned the area around him for an escape- for something to free him. Every angle looked like another path to more and more trees. Behind him, Ashby's voice had vanished and no one called for him. In the silence, the only ting that Draco could hear was the pounding sensation in the hold of his chest.

And then it came like a whispered cry, "_Humenum Revelio!" _and then, "_Steupify!"_

_

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_

**Draco Malfoy's POV:**

I knew he'd cursed me before he'd done it. Why did I stop running? Why did I quit? Was this a new habit of mine that I'd so recently picked up? Stupid. Stupid. _Stupid. _

What I would soon find out was that Ashby had, in fact, caught me when I did halt, had cursed me before I could even spot him hiding there behind me. When I do wake up, it is not in his office, but in the depths of a memory that I do not wish to remember. The scene before me is that of a dark and grassy field. The grass is tall and swaying in the wind and I see myself standing there, face drenched with sweat, mud, and tears. Standing in the middle of my memory I cry out to Ashby to stop. "Please!" I yell around me and I want to run to the memory version of me and tackle myself to the ground. I want to stop this before anyone can see. My feet, however, stay rooted to the ground and I know any movement is useless.

The memory-me, he bends over and retches. The smell around me is so bad that even know I can remember it. It is the smell of a rotting body, lying face down in the dewy grass. Off to my right, the little pond glistens in the moonlight. The moon- it is the only source of light. The others have taken my wand and out here I am defenseless. The fact that Ashby has found his way here mortifies me and I squeeze my eyes shut to block the memory.

Much to my horror it is when I open them that I realize I am still here. Memory-me bends over and finally is sick all over the grass in front of his feet. I watch myself gag and choke as the smell floats around the air. The shovel rests on the middle of a tree trunk beside me and it waits to be picked up, waits for me to finish what I've been ordered to start. The words of Peter Pettigrew echo in my head. It is something he has said in his defense many times while in public after many close captures. "The Dark Lord," his disembodied voice whispers to me, "can be very persuasive."

But I hadn't needed much persuasion. It was the painful memory of the Cruciatus Curse that hadn't really given me a choice. My parent's name was in the gutter- we were a joke. And it was because of me. Because of me and my weak stomach and my damn conscience. I'm spineless, useless, and easy. As I watch myself get sick all over the grass , I completely forget about any feeling of freedom I've ever had. I am a robot. I am nothing more than a common coward.

I watch myself do it. I watch myself lift up the shovel and wipe my mouth with my rolled up shirt sleeve. And, bawling, I start the hole. It is at first hard to make and, with my foot as extra weight, I shove the shovel into the ground and scoop away the earth. Even after a long amount of time, there is only a little dent to show proof of my hard work. I gag as I dig through the ground and every so once in a while my eyes catch it. The massive shadow, it is hidden away under the wisps of green grass and I hope that it is unobtainable to Ashby's curious eyes.

I wonder what Ahsby thinks when he watches me dig. No matter what he thinks, I am thinking worse.

I shut my eyes tighter, once last hope of reassurance. One last hope to remove myself before he sees it all. At my chance of undeserved freedom, I am unsuccessful. I sink down against a tree trunk from my past. I cannot stop it.

What a horrible feeling it is when you realize that there's nothing you can possibly do.

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	11. Grave Digger

**Vonne: **I'm getting a lot of unsigned reviews. I really, really appreciate it, but I love hearing from those of you that have signed in, as well. Please remember that if you are on alert, I love hearing from you too. I mean, getting alert messages is great, but I really do love the reviews I get. Good or bad. Anyway, there are review responses below for all of you that reviewed- mainly those that consistently do (which I really, really appreciate). Check to see if your name is below and if your questions have been answered!

**These Trees Rule: **Oh, you'll have to read this chapter to find that one out! :)

**Leroy UP: **Thanks so much for all your reviews. I know you didn't have a question, but I really do appreciate it.

**Le Candeh: **HA-HA. Same goes for you (from my response to Leroy UP). I really appreciate hearing from you guys. Thanks again!

**Dramione1996: **Oh, good. I'm glad you've got it now. I wasn't too sure on what parts I should explain, but I'm glad what I did helped you to understand the rest of this better. HA-HA oh, and thanks, by the way (you liked the name of the previous chapter).

**Rosebud23: **HA-HA geez I love your reviews- so much personality in them. Anyway, I'm glad you liked the memories; they're fun to write. Hopefully you'll have as much fun reading THIS memory as you did the last couple.

**Reidluver: **I know, I've always loved throwing little Snape bits in there (you'll see what I mean after you read this chapter). He's just such an amazing character. And, you're absolutely 100% right. It's "Stupefy"! Sometimes I'm rather forgetful. Thanks!

Please, please submit reviews. I really, really appreciate it! Thank you..

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**Chapter Eleven  
Grave Digger**

_Draco's Memory, Draco's POV  
Months before the Hogwarts Battle_

What Ashby is about to see, I am not ready to relive. The very thought of it makes my body ache and my mind go. I am crazy even just watching the memory of myself as I dig a hole in the grassy earth. Any hint of plantation has vanished as I scrape it away, tossing it aside in the pile of dirt that has been mounting by the hole. The hole grows bigger as I watch myself dig it. With every plummeting foot, I can almost sense it deepen. I remember how I felt even then, standing over it; it is a black hole in the middle of the ground, waiting to be filled. Once again I retch and from my spot against the tree, I watch myself double over, throwing up any food I've had left over from diner. I flop to my knees, the smell is so terrible and there, on the ground, I blink away any trace of tears on my face. I can't watch this, but somehow I force myself to. Memory-me, I am groping the ground, spitting my own hair from my mouth. From my spot watching myself, I am at a length where I can clearly hear my own sobbing. I hear the leftover food as it hits the ground.

The shovel next to me, it waits to be put back to work. However, on the ground, I am in no mood to continue. My hands feel the wet grass as they attempt to find the tree trunk. It is something else that my fingers grasp, despite this. When I feel it, I let out a yelp that cuts through the sky around me. The thing that I touch instead is fleshy and massive; I have been avoiding it the entire time that I've been out here. But there is no use in trying to avoid it now. I stumble back, crawling like a crab on the ground backwards. The thing that I've been avoiding, it has found me and I am forced to face it under the revealing moonlight. It is Charity Burbage, who once taught Muggle Studies. When I do find the courage to look down at her, I instantly regret it. She's been dead for days and before me rests what remains of her, Nagani's leftovers.

Charity reaks of rotting flesh and I resist the urge to throw myself on her and apologize. I resist the notion in my chest that wants to tell her how sorry I am that she's dead. I want to tell her, to admit to her what I haven't admitted to anyone- that I don't now what I've gotten myself into. I don't say anything to the corpse of my ex-teacher. I just stare and pant and shake my head. Sick rises up to my throat again and I swallow it down, wincing at the burning sensation that stings me. Her eyes are open and I avoid them like the plague as I draw myself to a hazy stand without the tree stump I'd been previously searching for.

With newfound hurry I snatch up the shovel and dig the rest of the hole furiously. There is nothing more that I've ever wanted to do than get this hole dug. I want to get this over with and run, run farther than I've ever run before and vanish. I don't do this. I do what I'm told; I dig and dig and dig and eventually the hole is big enough and wide enough and I'm sure Charity's remains will fit inside of it. The hole sits at the ready, waiting to devour whatever I'm prepared to throw in it. By the shirt collar I drag Charity to the edge of the hole and I have the nagging urge to say something, anything.

"I'm sorry," I manage to spit out and watching myself I realize how broken my voice is. Coughing one again I nudge Charity in her grave and when I hear her hit the bottom of the pit I feel my knees sink. In the kneel that I'm in at the hole's edge, I can't see beyond the grave's blackness- I don't want to. I grab my head in the palms of my cold hands and shake my head. This isn't happening. This isn't happening. Even from my spot watching myself I can't believe it. This isn't happening.

But it is. It is and I'm not doing anything about it. And maybe it is because of the smell of it, but I sink down once more to the ground, my long legs out in front of me. They are at odd angles on the grass, like a baby deer learning to walk. From the back of my throat emits a sound like a dying animal, but watching I know it is only the sound of defeat. The sinking feeling in my chest, it's plummeted down to my feet and made them numb. I cannot move and, down below in the grave, Charity Burbage's body is waiting to be put to her restless sleep. There is a rustle in the forest behind me and I spin around, greeted by nothingness. I do not waste the strength to spin around and, watching the memory of myself try and spot the intruder, I already now who is hiding. Severus Snape wastes no time revealing himself, wand lit at the tip. His face is dark and shadowy; with the light showing under his chin, he looks like a ghost. "Get up," he commands and nears me hastily. He is not angry, but rather stern. Snape's dark hair hides half of his pale face.

"No," Memory-me says, shaking his head. Watching myself, I look pathetic and I wonder if Snape is thinking the same. He nears me but doesn't offer a hand. Instead of coming to me, however, he rounds his way towards the grave and peers over the edge.

"You haven't finished," he says, but his voice is rather solemn and he slightly winces. For a moment I think I see him wince and, possibly, he is muttering a few words. When he spins around he directs his attention at me and he stands above me with a grim stare. "Get up," he says again, with another sad nod. But I shake my head again, a sob jumps in my chest. "Mr. Malfoy, get up." Again, I don't oblige. It takes a moment but Snape bends over and grabs me by my arm, pulling me to my feet. As I stumble up, I get a glance into Snape's own visage- he is morose and pale. Before his eyes glance back at me, they are sad and distant. When they finally find my own eyes, his face shifts into a look of his own personal determination. He tell me in a whisper, "the Dark Lord told you to get something done. I suggest you do as you are told."

"What if I don't want to do if I'm told? Hm? What if I don't want to take these orders?" Snape is hurting my forearm as he digs his fingernails into it. "What if this has gone--"

"What?" Snape's eyes flicker. "What if this has gone too far? Is that what you're asking me?" There is a pause and then Snape's eyes flicker. He gapes at me for a moment, seemingly tottering on the idea of whether or not to tell me something. Instead he throws me aside, waves his wand at the discarded shovel, and allows it to force itself into my torso. I catch it with a grunt and stumble back, looking from the shovel back to Snape's hovering face. "Did my _father_ send you here? Huh?" I ask him, freezing as I stand there with the shovel. When Snape doesn't answer me, I ask, "it was _them_ then, wasn't it? They sent you here to check up on me?" Snape mutters something under his breath. And Memory-me snaps, "_didn't they?_ Thought I couldn't handle this by myself, didn't they? What else have they been saying about me? About my _family? _Hey, answer me!"

Snape, the memory of him, he says, "no one sent me."

I raise an eyebrow, striding forward on weak legs. Snape does not flinch as I advance on his, rolling up the sleeves of my white button up. "Then why are you here?" If I hadn't been stripped of my wand, I would have had him by the throat. Back then, back when I was naive, I thought Snape was there to further give me orders. "Speak up, Snape!"

Snape does, of course, as I wish. His voice rises and he looks at me with such a threatening glance that I am slightly less ready to tackle him to the ground. "I am here on my own accord." He says, "Despite what you think you know. Despite how 'clued-in' you may think yourself to be, there's much more to it, Draco Malfoy. So, I am telling you this for now: Do. As. You're. Told." For a second time he waves his wand and the shovel flicks up from the ground and whizzes through the air in my direction. I catch it with a shaking palm and look up at Snape, furious.

"I don't answer to _you." _

_"_Yeah, well," Snape's face is stone cold and blank. He edges his way towards the hole. "You better start answering to somebody." Snape moves his chin towards the lingering hole. "Because this thing is not just going to go away. Now finish it."

"No."

Before I know it I am up against the tree that I watch myself at. Snape is clutching my collar and there is a desperate fury on his face that is so evident underneath the moonlight. From my standpoint as watcher, I jump to my feet, as if to avoid being in the way of Memory-Me's back against the trunk. As I watch this moment that I had tried so hard to forget, I see myself from Snape's perspective. My eyes are wide and fearful and my hands fly instinctively to my pocket in hopes of locating a wand. Snape does not look scared of me, he doesn't even flinch. "This is far beyond anything you can understand," he says and he shakes my shirt collar. "Do not try to pretend that it isn't!"

"I'm so sure!" I say back to him, wincing as if Snape is going to slap me across the face. "You're the one who pretends, isn't that right? Been pretending for Voldemort your whole life. Pretended up until--"

"Until what? Until you didn't, as usual, do as you were told? Until I had to step in and--"

"You wouldn't have had to!" I spit, "I would have--"

"Oh, do not kid yourself, Draco." And Snape's grip slackens from my collar. My feet once again hit the ground and I wipe any free saliva from my mouth with the sleeve of my once nice shirt. Snape is pacing a bit ahead of me now, his hands behind his straight back. "Like I've said," he adds under his panting breath, "you don't know the half of it. Once you stop pretending that you do, you'll figure out more of all this." Snape lets out a little sigh and once again cocks his head towards the lingering pit, "now finish up what you've asked for."

"I didn't ask for this!" I say harshly, but I make my way towards the pit, my throat dry and rusted.

"You didn't?" Snape says in his own version of sarcasm, "Hm, I thought you did." Both the memory of Snape and I, we watch Memory-Me fill the hole up. At first I start to cover the Muggle Studies teacher's body noiselessly, but as the hole gets more and more filled, I can't suppress the sobs. Snape doesn't seem effected by this; he watches like a hawk and his eyes stay focused on me the whole time. When there is a good amount of dirt in the hole, I kneel back down and continue to cover up the grave with my hands, spreading out the dirt in order to fully conceal the remains of what is left of an expression on the dead face.

When I am done, I burry my head in the palms of my sweaty hands. Snape says nothing, but he doesn't kneel down to console me, either. Instead, Snape turns on his heels and makes his way back through the forest. Once again I am alone with Burbage's grave. And before I know it there is a little tug at the back of my mind and all before me goes absolutely dark. I wince, blinking at the pain that I can now feel in my arm where Ashby had grabbed me. When I open my eyes again, I am out of my memory, sitting opposite Ashby.

For a moment, Ashby stares down at me, but he then whisks himself away and begins in a slow pace around the room. His hands behind his back, he is muttering to himself and he ignores me as I lay on my back staring up at the ceiling as if I'd just barely drowned. "That's it?" he asks from around the room, walking back and forth, "that's it?"

"What?" I ask him croakily. "What do you mean that's it?"

"That!" Ashby points down at me almost accusingly, "That's what you're giving me tonight? _That?!" _

From the ground of Ashby's office, I lay there utterly confused. What did he possibly mean? I hadn't even given him anything- willingly at least. And, besides the fact, why was he unhappy with what he'd seen? He'd better get used to it- because he'll see worse if these sessions keep going the way they've been. Walking around in a circle, Ashby looks utterly confused and angry. He makes his way to his desk and lifts up a glass of what looks like gin. When he turns around to face me, there is a flash in his narrowing eyes. "I- I--" I am lost for words.

"Nevermind, Mr. Malfoy," Ashby says waving me away. He has taken to a seat in his office chair and pressed his temples between his hands. Rubbing himself soothingly, he nods towards the door. "Nevermind, I'll see you next time, then, huh?" On the floor, I do not move, I don't think I can. But when Ashby turns to look down at me, I find the strength to at least give it a try. What starts off as promising serves to be a bit of a let down. My slippery hands grope the couch next to me and I stumble pathetically to my feet. However, walking seems to be the hard part. I use the walls as a railing and leave the room as if I'd never took a step before in my life.

Outside the office, I follow the hallway as I lean against it, gripping my weak stomach. In the back of my mind I see the body of my old teacher. I see Snape's desperate eyes. He was trying to warn me, to look out for me. This is something I know now, but, of course, hadn't back then. Severus Snape was not the coward as I'd always seen him to be- I was. As I pull myself down the corridor, I wonder what Ashby could have possibly wanted from me. What did he expect? If it were up to me, I wouldn't have shown him anything. If it were up to me, I wouldn't have allowed the memory to go as long as it did. I make it to the room, and flop on the living room couch. Someone's glass of water has been left over and, with a shaking hand, I reach over and grab it.

But the water down my throat does nothing and, as I lay back nervously, it still feels dry. I wonder for a split second what Ashby is doing in his office. And of what his plans are to get me to show him what he wants to see- whatever it is that he wants to see. I don't want to bring it to him, whatever it is. There is still resentment in my chest towards Ashby and his attitude towards me this night. I can feel the burning on my forearm and when I look, only then do I see the fingernail marks dug into it. As I rest my head back against the arm rest, my eyes sting when they finally shut. Something about me give up, and I press my eyes shut in the bitter darkness.

I've never understood how counting sheep helps people get to sleep. I always loose track and spend my time starting over with the count. However, it doesn't take long for me to pass out on the dingy little couch; I reach ten sheep before I tumble back into unconsciousness on the cushion.

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**Vonne: **REVIEWS MAKE ME :)


	12. Perspective

**Vonne: **Sorry that this chapter came so late as an update. That being said, I've has such a horrible lack of inspiration that I couldn't get myself to pen it down the correct way. Of course, after a while, I finally wrote down something satisfactory, at least. That being said, here's what I did manage to get down. Anyways, as always, responses to your reviews are below (except most of the unsigned reviews, of course). Check below to see if you can spot your name, this time. Otherwise, read and please, review.

Thanks once again!

**BananaHead: **Please, as I've said before I'll gladly say it again- if you don't like me holding my story "hostage", then don't wait around for it. Complaining to me because YOU'RE not satisfied is not going to do anyone any good. And it- for sure- won't prompt me to update anything any faster. What's annoying is when people take the time to sit there and complain to me about my decisions on when I want to update something that is MINE. Once you realize this, I'm sure you won't be anywhere as 'annoyed' as you claim to be.

**Rosebud23: **Thanks (again)! HA-HA and to find out what Ashby's 'problem' is, you're going to have to keep reading. ;) There does seem to be something a bit funny going on with him though, doesn't there? That being said, it will all be found out as this continues. And, to your comment about Snape in the last chapter- thanks! I love the character of Snape, he's just so complicated. I'm really glad you saw what I wrote about him to be in good character. I really had to think about that before I wrote anything about him down.

**Dramione1996: **HA-HA thank you! The counting sheep part was something that's always bugged me. Sometimes I go through insomnia phases and every so once in a while, someone will advise me to count sheep. It never, ever works, either. I always, always loose count. Oh, and since you asked so nicely, I hope you enjoy this chapter, too.

**E V A N: **I don't usually respond to unsigned reviewers, but yours made me laugh. :) I'm glad you really got into the last chapter- I take that as a sweet compliment.

**Reidluver: **To find out what Ashby wanted, you're going to have to keep reading. I'm really glad you liked the memory, though. I knew how much you loved them so I especially tried to add in a good bit of them in here for you.

**LEROY UP: **Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you have as much fun reading this chapter, too.

**LECandeh: **Thank you, too. I appreciate that you take to reviewing my fiction so much. :)

**Mark: **Bah, I feel so bad that you cannot, for the life of you, remember your password to your pen name. I wish you the best in trying to locate it. Thanks for all the reviews you've submitted this this, otherwise. Even though they are unsigned, it's very much appreciated.

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**Chapter Twelve:  
Perspective**

The morning Harry found himself sitting in Ashby's office, he would have doubted himself that it had been exceedingly hot in the several days before the current one. Outside the threat of rain lingered over Ashby's center like a plague; with every churning cloud, Harry found himself predicted a complete downpour. However, when the sky failed to bring any precipitation, he had presumed that the risk of a drizzle was only just that- an unlikely intimidation. Harry's green eyes watched the gray sky dazedly and, as it so seemed, it had taken Ashby several tries to successfully capture Harry's wandering attention. "Mr. Potter," Ashby said, stuffing the urge to wave his hand in front of the unfocused visage away, "Mr. Potter, how did you sleep last night?" Curious, Ashby wondered whether or not Harry or any of his friends had mentioned any bit of commotion from the night before.

"Err-- fine." Harry said, shaking the dizzy feeling from his head. He let his interest of the darkening skies drop and he smiled sorrowfully at the plump therapist, promising to keep further attention on his session. "Yeah," he said after a while, slightly uneasy at Ashby's choice to remain absolutely silent, "I slept rather soundly last night. Thank you." Confused, Harry shifted anxiously on the couch across from Ashby and sat uncomfortably in the silence. The beginning of the session had been, as usual, rather typical; Ashby had given Harry a blank stack of parchment and asked him to illustrate one cheerful thing he could remember over the past several months. Harry drew a stick-figure version of Ginny and himself, packed with his own pair of glasses, and handed it back impatiently. It wasn't, of course, that he wasn't hopefully optimistic, however he had grown rather bored of Ashby's uncreative way of treating him.

"Good," Ashby nodded after a while and turned back down to the stack of papers in his lap. He had taken to glancing at them every now and then since Harry had arrived an hour ago, but seemed to be avoiding the task of actually bringing them up. However, at the next sudden crumble of thunder around the atrium behind them, his frightfulness seemed to have vastly vanished. He said slowly, with a bit of careful tact, "seeing as your session is coming to a close, I hope you don't mind if I go check on Mort for a few? He's been rather quiet over the past few days- unusually like him, I might add."

"Oh," Harry said, straightening his posture as he saw Ashby slowly begin to rise, "that's no problem, Mr. Ashby. I'll just wait for you outside until you come back."

"No, no, that's quite alright." It was with swift motion that Ashby hurried towards the door, a rather anxious look on his face. "You see Mort's the rather persistent type. He'd wanted to talk to me earlier this morning but I haven't found the time to really tend to him. It's dawned on me just now how quiet he's been since asking to see me. I'll be back only momentarily, I assure you. You can, if you're up to it, just stay in my office. No need to complicate things." There was not much of a moment for Harry to interject, however. Ashby whisked open the door to his office and left Harry gaping in his office alone, analyzing the emptiness of it. He managed to stay still for a several few seconds, however, but proved rather stir-crazy when he finally found his way to his feet. Standing anxiously in the middle of the office alone, Harry's pacing seemed rather unavoidable.

Over the past several weeks, it was being alone that Harry rather despised most. However, standing by himself in Ashby's dim office seemed to be just the therapy he needed. He waited until he heard the retreating footsteps of Ashby walk down the hallway before letting his eyes fully scan the interior of Ashby's office. Papers were shuffled messily atop the wooden desk, files with names and photographs. His file, especially, stood out instantly to him; the moving portrait of his miserable face, snapped right after the horrible battle, loomed in the frame dully. The flash of the cameras reflected brightly in the lens of his glasses and, suddenly furious, Harry shuffled his file aside and leaned back against the desk with his arms bitterly folded. The sheer resentment towards Ashby bubbled in his chest- he didn't quite appreciate the man's blatant nosiness. Curious, Harry pondered whether or not he should go over his own files but, deciding that he did not want to further build on his hatred, chose absolutely not to. Chewing restlessly on his lower lip, Harry's eyes once again browsed the office room.

Then he abruptly spotted it. There across from him sat a stone gray pensieve, a pond of clear blue liquid floating inside it. His wondrous feet brought him towards it and, almost on cue, did his eyes find the small vile that rest openly on the side of it. Harry's inquisitive hand brought it keenly to his face and peered directly at the bottle's front. Printed across the label, in Ashby's perfect cursive handwriting, was a name and one single number: "Draco Malfoy, #6"

Harry's pulse speed up and his heart almost skipped a beat. For an unusually long moment, he pondered whether or not he should mettle around with the curious memory. He had, admittedly, been rather upset with the hefty amount of nosiness that had been occurring lately at the center. And, while hypocrisy was not normally Harry's forte, it didn't take long for him to decide upon open the tempting vile and letting the silver memory slip slowly into the open pensieve. The thing turned instantly black as both liquids met and Harry's hands gripped the sides of it apprehensively. He sat there for a moment, watching the dark memory dance inside the circular pensieve and checked around him; the office of Ashby remained rather empty and oddly still despite the crackling of thunder from outside its massive walls. He huffed, sighing loosely to himself, and then without another setback, leaned in feverishly forward.

The memory was dim and dark and, furthermore, confusing. At the steps of a rather long and narrow staircase, Harry Potter stood beside the recollection of Draco, who stood straight and confident with his fingers wrapped around his own stick-like wand. The look about Draco was daunting and intimidating. He looked rather well-kept and determined, despite the setback of a rather deep cut that was slashed across the left side of his white face. Draco Malfoy stared straight forward, up the staircase, looking rather blank, though his eyes brimmed with readiness. A dark shadow slipped up behind him, but Draco didn't jump. As the watcher, Harry's eyes followed the dark figure and saw its slender white hand curl slowly around the square chin that belonged to Draco. "Are you ready, my dear?" The voice around Malfoy whispered and Malfoy nodded in response.

The owner of the taunting voice was none other than Draco's sultry aunt, her massive curl of hair messy around her face. Instantly, Harry knew where he was; atop the highest tower of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy stood smirking with Bellatrix, her hand now pulling his blond locks behind his right ear. "Well," she said, striding forward and pushing Draco along with the palm of her callously blistered hand, "let's get going then. Wouldn't want to keep the Dark Lord waiting." As the two marched down the staircase and made their way to the more level grounds of Hogwarts, Harry followed quickly behind, "this is it," she assured him, "this is your time to prove yourself- to uplift the name of Malfoy." It wasn't until Harry had followed the two of them out through the back doors of Hogwarts that Harry could see the scene before them. There is was, to his horror, Hogwarts engulfed in a surplus of red flames. Malfoy's face lit up with the light and his own beaming expression. Bellatrix let slip her hand from Draco Malfoy's steady shoulder and she whispered something inaudible in her nephew's listening ear. Once her lips drew away, she took off in a ready skip, and her excitedly prancing footsteps echoed as she merrily trotted off down the ignited hallway.

Harry was alone with the memory of Malfoy, who stood like a statue, still and watching. He stood that way for several moments before slowly floating down the hall. The way he walked, he was a groom walking down the isle, his thin wand as his ready bouquet. As he strode into the main hall, a surplus of screams filled the entire school. Harry's heart sunk; reliving it was torture and he resisted having to cover his ears to avoid hearing. He kept, however, his gaze on the side of Malfoy, as he walked slowly alongside him. The shout of a girl's yell bounced off the walls and a sudden collapse of an exploding wall followed. Stumbling, someone shouted, "No! Please!" And Draco's visage practically beamed.

From the depths of the hallway behind them, a single set of footsteps moved through the narrow corridor. "Please!" Came the same voice as before, broken and desperate, "please! Someone, help!" When the owner of the voice brought herself into light, Harry concluded that he'd never laid eyes upon her before. The girl was dressed in her robes, a Ravenclaw, obviously distressed. Her dark hair had come untangled from her sloppy bun and she was blinking back a mixture of tears and soot. "Please!" She said when she'd spotted the figure of Draco Malfoy again, "help!" However, her tone took a rather dramatic change once the view of whom she'd been running to took its form. Her azure eyes widened and she nearly stumbled backwards and she scooted anxiously away. "D-Draco!" She said with such horror that Harry's own stomach churned. "D-Draco, I-I w--"

However, Draco gave her no time to finish. He lifted his own wand casually and didn't bother giving her a passing glance. "_Avada Kedavra!" _She was dead on the spot and Draco stepped over her discarded body carelessly. For a moment Harry lingered, gaping at the tossed away girl, her hand outstretched towards Draco's shadow. From his spot with her, Harry watched Draco raise his wand, his voice echoing as he shouted the killing curse left and right; about his wand, the bright green light shot in all directions.

There had been no other moment in the world that Harry felt the need to strangle Draco Malfoy. He wanted to watch Draco Malfoy suffer, wanted to witness him die so carelessly in the way he'd killed so many. Fifty-five people had died in the Battle of Hogwarts, and as Harry left the dead girl's side, he watched as Draco graciously contributed to the staggering number. He walked along side the blond boy helplessly as he committed heartless murder and swallowed down the rather large lump in the middle of his dry throat. "No!" He found himself yell at every kill, and when Draco had reached the center of the school, only then did he look as if he'd had enough.

"Malfoy!" Shouted Crabbe and Goyle in unison as they hurried down the hall and, at once, Harry gained more perspective. Crabbe was not dead, yet. This meant that, sometime during the battle, Malfoy had not even come in contact with Harry beforehand. If Harry knew, if only Harry knew then what he'd seen now. He wouldn't have dove towards saving Malfoy's life. "Malfoy! We've spotted Potter with Granger and Weasley!" Goyle was panting, his flabby chin moving with every over pronounced word.

"They're down there! Down the corridor!" And at once Crabbe seized the sleeve of Draco Malfoy, pulling him through the hallway vastly. Harry curtly took after them, however, once he'd extended his eager foot, something tugged at the back of his collared neck. There was a little pluck and Harry felt his stomach rush backwards. When he opened his shut eyes, he was once again standing in the dim office that belonged to Ashby, who stood over Harry, his fat hand wrapped around the collar of Harry's own shirt.

"Ashby!" Harry choked once he'd regained his vision back. "Ashby. Sir, I'm--"

There was subtle annoyance in Ashby's yearning voice, "I don't appreciate," he said mildly, "snooping."

"I'm sorry, sir." Harry said, panting. He couldn't stop the tears from swelling up in his eyes. The moment, he swore to himself, that he found a way to get Draco Malfoy alone he would make him absolutely pay. "Sir!" He said, pulling himself away from the pensive. "Have you seen... surely, you've yet to have seen that memory."

But Ashby had drawn himself near the penesive, his hand plummeting below the surface of the water. He dug out the memory between his fingers and let it slip back into the clear glass vile. He said nothing, but from the man's utter silence, Harry could tell that he was not the only one who had seen Malfoy's miserable memory. "Draco Malfoy," Ashby finally said, shrugging, "is a curious character, that, Mr. Potter, is for certain."

"And you," Harry said, stammering slightly, "and you are sure that you trust him? You're completely sure that you've figured him all out?" At once Harry's broken breathing turned into that of a rumbling ramble. "Are you sure Draco Malfoy isn't still--"

"A Death Eater? Harry, what you've just seen was a memory. A thing of the past." That being said, Ashby rounded in his spot, making his way quickly back to the chair behind his desk. "That being said, I am not a mind-reader, though I do so try. What Draco Malfoy knows about himself is, exactly that. Only Draco knows his own innermost thoughts."

"So," Harry said, dazed. His hands were on his knees, his face staring furiously at the carpeted floor, "you're saying that you're not even sure?"

Ashby raised his own skinny wand and pointed it towards the door, which flung open rather vastly. There was a slight glisten in Ashby's eyes behind his thick glasses, but Harry was sure it was only because he was still sore over Harry's decision to poke around his office. "Harry," he said, tiredly, "while I appreciate your...uh, help... I do find it accomplishing when I am the one to complete my job. Alone. I hope that I can further count on relying upon your trust?" Harry only gaped at the man, bitter and confused all together. Ashby motioned his neck towards the open door and said with a rather anxious tone of voice, "Goodnight, Mr. Potter."

After a staggering second, Harry found the strength to stagger out of the office, only slightly embarrassed of his invasion of privacy. What he had learned was too heavy to ever forget. And, as he strode dazed down the long corridor, he vowed he would make it so Draco Malfoy never forgot it, either.

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**Vonne: **Reviews make me smile. _Oh, and maybe, just maybe, there's a little more to this chapter than it seems...._

On an old fanfiction account that I used to have, I would occasionally give previews as to what was going to happen in the next chapter. Here's a little taste to get you excited:

Chapter Thirteen:  
(Excerpt Below)

_"Harry's chest rose and fell. It was him and Malfoy, Malfoy and him, alone at the outskirts of the lumbering forrest. He said with his hand on his wand, "I know what you did!" And his voice sounded harsh against the ripping wind. The drop of rain dribbled around the two of them, hitting the emerald grass below and leaving traces of beaded wet drops. Draco had only just realized Harry's tightening grip on his slender wand; he let fall his heaving chest and brushed away the blond hair from his pale face. At the while where he looked enormously frightened, Draco's face gave off a somewhat confused expression, as well. Harry, however, advanced upon the boy, his eyes on fire behind his newly heated glasses. He shouted in a voice that barely cut through the sound of the sprinkling rain, "I know what you did to those people at Hogwarts! I saw it! I saw you, you slimy, two-faced--" _

_But he had no time to finish. Draco's eyes found the steady wand between Harry's fingers. His mouth slowly dropping at the sheer note of it. He stumbled instantly over his own feet as he began slowly backing away. However, he did nothing to defend himself against Harry's accusations. With a quick and swift intake of sudden air, Draco turned hurriedly on his heels and spun around backwards, beginning his hefty sprint away from Potter and his threatening arm. Harry's call came about the scene around him, "come back!" he shouted as Draco rushed back into the center, wising he'd had his own wand as a defense, "come back you damn coward!" Wet footsteps clambered across the sopping wet grass and it took no time for Harry to spot Draco and rush after him, his wand outstretched..."_


	13. Breaking Potter

**Vonne: **Thanks for all the reviews. Again, I've received a lot of people complaining that I "hold my story for hostage", but most of these complaints are from people who don't review this fiction in the first place and only just put it on alert. I respect that you all want to find out what happens I really care that you are happy with this, but I, just as well, want to be happy with it too. That being said, the review requirements that I have are good for me in a number of ways, two particularly being that I get a satisfactory amount of reviews, and that I am given a good amount of time to liv the life I have outside of writing. Please remember that if you do feel the need to mention to me that you're unhappy with the way I update, think about those details. I do not live on the computer. I'm not going to update daily, just as well that I am not going to update due to anyone's personal convenience. I just said it a while ago, and I'll gladly say it again (just so it sticks): setting a review requirement gives me plenty of time to do other things. It also gives me time to think up what's coming up next. So that should be good for the both of us.

That being said, I really, really love hearing from you all- unsigned or signed, negative or positive. I stick to what I've always said- I really, really appreciate all the reviews from you all. Even if you've got something short to say, it's all taken to heart. Thank you for all the amazing amount of reviews I have gotten so far. I love getting advice on my writing, too. Like I said, all of it, every last bit of it, is appreciated.

**Reidluver: **Thank you! HA-HA, I'm glad you're excited. And, about your prediction, you may be wrong- you may be right. But I think everyone that truly knows Draco Malfoy already knows the answer to THAT. (And I think you know the real Malfoy). And, your comment about Harry's inability to stay away from penesives made me laugh. It's so true. That damn kid really, _really_ has THE worst time with those things. He just cannot seem to keep his bloody nose out of them. I'm glad you liked the memory, they're a fun bit for me to write, so I'm glad they're enjoyed. :)

**Dramione1996: **Oh Harry for sure wants revenge on Draco. HA-HA and if you're fond of stories in which Draco gets hurt, then you're going to be rather fond of this chapter.

**Rosebud23: **Thanks! I hope the wait wasn't too long or anything. :) Thanks so much for all the reviews you've given me for this fiction. I'm glad to know that you'll stick around and that you'll keep reading no matter what. That really, truly made my day. Thanks again!

**Skittering-Roach: **Let me start off first by saying- wow. That was one loonngg review. And I loved every bit of it. It's so funny how you mentioned how annoying Harry can be. Whenever I read the books I always think the same thing: Harry, calm down. You don't know everything. It's like in the last book when he's all, "Oh, Dumbledore didn't care about me. Uh." Shit Harry, shut the fuck upp. So, trying to be true to how utterly annoying Harry can be, thus decided upon the idea of throwing in a little penesive. I knew Harry couldn't ever resist. NEXT, let me just say that some of your predictions could be possibly true. ;) But I won't tell you which, cause that would ruin everything. HAHA. Actually, it scared me a little on how accurate you kind of were. Weird... physic? Anyway, thank you for the long review. I adored it.

**LeCandeh: **Thanks for all the reviews! :)

**Leroy UP: **Thank you.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen:  
Breaking Potter**

Night had dawned on the outskirts of the massive center. Sparkling moonlight and timid little stars bore down in all directions. Under their twinkling light, their white glow lay cast honestly on the building below. There was something eerily silent about the grounds below the sky, but the world around seemed to take little to no notice. Surely, as the clouds began to churn more violently, there came the instant dripping of sudden rain. It was, however, inside the center that the most disturbance had started. Along the narrow hall clattered the calm but fast footsteps that cut through the silence like a bitter and determined knife. The echo of the angry feet hit the stone walls of Ashby's therapeutic center and the birds that rest of the trees around the building instantly took off in fearful flight.

The pounding footsteps belonged to none other than Harry Potter, red with the sheer thought of the horror-film memory he'd only just seen. Traces of his own sweat dribbled down his wrinkled forehead and he held his breath in order not to stumble from sheer disillusionment. An act he couldn't fathom, something he'd thought utterly impossible; he had been wrong. Draco Malfoy was, as it so seemed, capable of such an act. He'd thought, after seeing Draco so obviously fail to commit Dumbledore's murder, that there had been some amount of human left in the boy. He'd thought that maybe there was hope for the spineless git yet. Blinking away hot and angry tears, Harry loathed Draco more than he'd ever had in his entire life.

Like pulsating bubbles, blood-hot white fury rose bitterly in Harry's chest. His fist were tight as he fumbled with this skinny wand that now rest pointed at the ready between his clenched fingers. The anger that resided in him, there was no stopping it. He wanted to make Malfoy pay and that, he decided as he quickly made his way down the narrow hallway, he would. The center was vastly quiet as he began his swift stride. But despite this unusual amount of sleepiness, there was nothing on his mind but absolute revenge. He could see it then, the little doorway that divided the long hallway from the living quarters that belonged to Harry and his friends. His legs carrying him fast and furious, he made his way eagerly towards it, and thought of no one other than Draco Malfoy.

"_Where is he_?" Harry said almost too loudly, only to find that the living room was utterly empty, despite the glowingly white figure, still sleeping on the couch.

His eyes focused in the slight amount of light and he neared the unconscious figure; Draco Malfoy was laying face up, his hands up and covering his sweaty visage. Harry took forward in a stride and his hand went instinctively towards his ready wand. Just watching him was making Harry Potter undoubtedly anxious. He wanted to ring the boy's skinny neck. He wanted to see him suffer, just as he'd made so many others suffer. There was no chance of mercy in Harry's panting breath; he saw Draco for what he was; worthless and evil, powerful and merciless. Without wasting a moment, Harry leaned forward and seized the untied black tie that lay like a scarf around Malfoy's sweaty collar, hoisting his upper torso quickly in the air. At once Malfoy's eyes burst open and he woke with a gasp as he caught bitter sight of his intruder. "Get up!" Harry bellowed, his teeth pressed together in an intense grind-like fashion. His grin was so tight on Draco's front that his previously red knuckles faded to a ghostly shade of pure white.

After a moment of pure spasm, Draco's fast moving hands found his collar and his own fingers wrapped tightly around Harry's. In a rough effort to free himself, Draco dug relentlessly into Harry's hands and tried to successfully pry them apart. When he proved rather unsuccessful, however, he stopped his struggling and rest his soaking wet hands on top of Harry's. "Get off of me!" He sternly said, his own teeth pressed threateningly together. "Let _go_ of me. Now!" But Harry's grip did not slacken. Instead of freeing the blond boy, Harry whisked him up to his feet and tossed him aside so that Draco was sent across the living room in a rather out of synced stumble. He collides bitterly with the kitchen table and, fiercely, his hand flew to his trouser pocket. When he of course did not produce any sign of his wand, his head rose with a slow and frightful worry. "What?" He said, finally, staggering back. He used his hands to feel the space behind him before he let his foot carry himself backwards. "What are you on about, Potter?"

"Oh, I think you bloody well know what I'm on about, Malfoy!" Harry roared, coming forward towards Malfoy, who had finally backed himself into the living room's stone wall. "You haven't changed at all. You're the same as your dammed father! _Don't you dare move!" _

But, of course, despite Harry's warning, Draco's wandering hand found the doorknob at the front door and stumbled backwards through it, just nearly dodging an angry spell Harry shot at him. The two took off in a desperate sprint; Draco Malfoy stumbling only just ahead of Harry, bent over as to avoid and of Harry's curses. He shouted as he raced through the halls, "Ashby! _Ashby!_" But no one came to Draco's defense. Harry was, as he'd so recently wished, alone with Draco and would do with him as he'd so promised. "A-Ashby! Hey!" Draco's pleading calls went rather unnoticed and he'd led Harry out to the back grounds of the center, remaining rather unassisted. When he'd reached the middle of the field, he stood in the center momentarily as he feverishly tried to settle upon which direction to take off in. Of course, despite his will to choose a path, Harry's presence behind him forced him to pick and pick quickly.

Draco instantly parted towards the cluster of trees, the stars in above him beaming down on the two like little spotlights. And once again Draco felt a seething pain in his side. He double over without thinking, grabbing towards it as he winced back sudden tears. The footsteps of Harry Potter echoed as the sound of feet crushing discarded leaves. He was shouting as he ran, bellowing over the rain, and all the while, Draco couldn't find it in him to keep running. It was the night before all over again and, bitterly, Draco cursed his foolishness, hated himself for his absolute weakness. He piercing white pain that struck his side burned and then subsided, leaving Draco dumbfounded in the middle of the clustered forrest. He looked around fearfully and then his eyes found Harry.

Harry's chest rose and fell. It was him and Malfoy, Malfoy and him, alone at the outskirts of the lumbering forrest. He bellowed with his hand on his wand, "I know what you did!" And his voice sounded harsh against the ripping wind. The drops of rain dribbled around the two of them, hitting the emerald grass below and leaving traces of beaded wet drops. Draco had only just realized Harry's tightening grip on his slender wand; he let fall his heaving chest and brushed away the blond hair from his pale face. At the while where he looked enormously frightened, Draco's face gave off a somewhat confused expression, as well. Harry, however, advanced upon the boy, his eyes on fire behind his newly heated glasses. He shouted in a voice that barely cut through the sound of the sprinkling rain, "I know what you did to those people at Hogwarts! I saw it! I saw it, you _bastard_! You slimy, two-faced--"

But he had no time to finish. Draco's eyes found the steady wand between Harry's fingers. His mouth slowly dropping at the sheer note of it. He stumbled instantly over his own feet as he began slowly backing away. However, he did nothing to defend himself against Harry's accusations. With a quick and swift intake of sudden air, Draco turned hurriedly on his heels and spun around backwards, beginning his hefty sprint away from Potter and his threatening arm. Harry's call came about the scene around him, "come back!" he shouted as Draco rushed back into the center, wising he'd had his own wand as a defense, "come back you damn coward!" Wet footsteps clambered across the sopping wet grass and it took no time for Harry to spot Draco and rush after him, his wand outstretched.

He caught up with him in no time whatsoever. Before Draco could reach the exit of the forrest, Harry had neared him. He reached him with an anxious amount of fury and the adrenaline that pulsed through his body allowed him to push forwards toward the boy with all his strength. He successfully tackled Draco to the forrest floor and the two were sent skidding across the ground, crackling leaves flying in all directions. Underneath Harry, Draco spat out a mouthful of his own light hair and a mixture of bits of crushed leaves. His chin was pouring with scarlet blood and the maroon liquid bled awfully on the brown and mangled leaves. Harry wasted no time in his attempt to pin Malfoy down. He whisked the boy onto his back and straddled him threateningly. Whiplike and jeeringly, Harry pointed his wand between Draco's wide eyes.

"You killed them!" He spat, his fingernails digging into Draco's neck, "You killed them and here you are- _free!_ You no good, rotten--"

But underneath Harry, Draco fought against Harry's forceful pressure. He spit blood and hair from his mouth and said as a large round blood bubble popped from the corner of his mouth, "What are you talking about? Get--- Off---Of---Me, Potter." Harry's hands found the back of Draco's neck and he lifted it up from the ground before slamming it back down on the forrest ground. Draco fell back with a painful grunt and his struggle from under Harry's body stopped temporarily. "What do you want?" He yelled, spitting a massive amount of blood from his running mouth. "What do you want, Potter?"

"I want you to pay," Harry said, leaning in towards Malfoy. He was so close to the blond's face that his nose almost came in complete contact with Draco's, "for what you've done!"

At once, Malfoy's nasty expression softened. He let his body completely slacken and his eyes looked fearfully into Harry's. Timid and frightened, he said slowly, "What are you talking about?"

"You're a murderer, Malfoy! You killled--"

"I didn't kill anyone!" However, Draco's insisting yell once again lowered to that of a desperate plea, "I swear. I didn't kill-- I never..."

"Liar!" Harry thrust his wand directly on the bridge of Draco's nose and when Draco didn't change his plea, he bellowed furiously, "_Levicorpus!" _A jet of streaming white light shot out from the tip of Harry's wand and Mafloy was whisked from underneath Harry by his ankles. There came a little yelp from Malfoy's throat and he opened his eyes to find himself dangling upside down in the middle of the clustered forrest. Below him, Harry looked up, panting to find his own breath. He held his wand out in front of him as if he were deciding upon what to curse the boy with next. "I saw you!" He bellowed! "I saw you damn memory!" Harry flung his wand to his left and Draco's body dragged along in mid-air, his neck emitted a rather large and painful pop.

Draco's scream was rather dry and desperate. "Let me down!" He coughed, tears rolling down from his cheeks; he could feel it again, the searing pain in his side plunged through him like a knife. "Let me down, Potter! I don't know what you're talking about! I--" but he was cut off as Harry whisked him to the other side and brought him so close to colliding into a tree that Draco let out yet another horrified yelp. "I DIDN'T KILL ANYONE!" Draco yelled, his voice cracking as he felt the blood rush up to the crown of his head. The blood that dripped from the corner of his mouth was rolling down his cheek as he hovered there upside above the forrest floor. And now Draco was panting, his chest rising so fast up and down that Harry found himself hoping the boy would have a stroke. "You don't know what you're _talking _about. You haven't seen anything!"

"Oh!" Harry cried from below him on the ground, pulling Draco up and down in the sky. From around his neck, Draco's black tie fluttered to the ground. "You're right- I didn't see a _thing!" _At Harry's last word, Draco was dropped from the sky and he landed with a thud on his back. "You're a filthy little liar. You don't deserve mercy." As a pathetic rebuttal, Draco coughed up an ample amount of blood from his mouth. The wind knocked from his lungs, he could only stare up at Harry curiously. "I saw you." Harry admitted, his wand out in front of him, ready to blow Malfoy to one million pieces, "I saw your lousy memory. Ashby--"

"_Ashby?!"_ There was something rather hurt that shone out in Malfoy's dust-covered face. "Ashby showed you my memories? How--"

"Yeah," Harry said, stepping away, "that's what I thought. _Levicorpus!" _Once again Malfoy was whisked into the air by his ankles and at the wave of Harry's wand, he was thrown down to his staggering feet.

"How _dare _you poke your nose around any of my--" Malfoy stopped, coughing. He clutched his front, doubling over, and Harry thought he'd cursed him with something he hadn't mention to do. Despite this, however, Harry raised his wand. The spell Harry shouted was inaudible to Malfoy's stinging ears, but he instantly fell over, binded invisibly by a set of unseen ropes. He didn't manage to struggle against the rope, but he lay, cowering as the pain in his side pressed into his torso sharply. "Potter! Stop!" Despite himself, Harry lowered his wand and Draco's limbs loosened against his own slender body. He did not try to look Harry in the eye, however he kept his face pressed shut, dribbling blindly with dust, sweat, and tears.

"Whatever's wrong with you," Harry said, nearing him, "you deserve it." And with a stride that was more of a fast paced walk, he hurried away from the body of Draco Malfoy, which lay limp and drenched on the floor of the leaf infested forrest.

* * *

**Vonne: **I noticed that a lot of you liked the sneak peak I gave of this chapter. Since I was so happy with all the reviews I got on the last chapter (thanks again), here it is- another peak into what's coming up next:

**Chapter Fourteen:  
Excerpt**

_"I cannot feel my legs on anything below them. My mouth pours blood onto the forrest ground below me and I cannot move. All around me is numb and my vision on the floor blindly blurs. Despite this immense about of pain, I do not feel sorry for myself. The hot tears that pool down my face, they are not present because of self pity. I had, over the amount of time that I have been laying here, managed to pull together the strength needed in order to pull my arms across my head and press my face against them. I don't know how long I've been here, mainly because I assume I've been in and out of consciousness. This now, this is not because of Harry's doing. Rather, it is the pain in my side that I cannot fathom. It burns and digs into me deeper. The throbbing feeling in my head makes my skull feel massive and heavy. The tingling feeling of pins and needles further clarifies that I lack any sensations that I may need in order to move. There is an icy feeling in my throat and I feel as if I have just surfaced from drowning._

_There is not a sound to be heard, but laying on the ground, I can almost hear the night sky laughing at me. When did I become so pathetic? What is wrong with me? My chest heaves with sobs, and I am beginning to feel myself pass out again. I am not ready for this, not ready to once again loose consciousness on the ground of a place so unfamiliar. Despite all that I can't feel, I notice my eyes as they find their way to the back of my head and I am pleading to myself. I am thinking as I try to pull myself back into the real world, "No, no, no, no, no.""_


	14. Puppet

**Vonne: **It is SO hard to be serious right now, let me tell you. I've just seen what just so happens to be the funniest thing I have EVER seen. If you're up for seeing a Potter-parody made by Harry Potter fans just like you and I, search 'A very Potter Musical' on youtube. It is an entire play based on Harry Potter, a parody that was made in appreciation to the entire series. So, just to let you know, I'm a little bit out of the serious mode at the moment. On the other hand, this chapter is what my current attempt at seriousness. Please, bare with me.

Let me know if I could have done any better. HA-HA honestly, all I can think about is, the conversation between Snape and Draco when Draco can't kill off Dumbledore:  
"Draco you coward! Fifty points from Gryffindor!"

**Dramione1996: **HA-HA, you asked. ;P

**Skittering-Roach: **Of course I didn't find it annoying- long winded reviews are always fun to read. Aw, yay, I'm glad you like the way I write Draco- I try...hard. HA-HA

**Rosebud23: **You'll soon find out. ;)

**These Trees Rule: **HA-HA, you'll see. Thanks for all the reviews, by the way.

**Kamui-Girl: **HA-HA, I've always felt like Harry was kind of an ass. I mean, in HBP, he's just like. "It was Draco who cursed Katie Bell. I JUST KNOW."

Sorry the responses were so short- I was low on time today.

**Chapter Fourteen:  
Puppet**

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**Draco Malfoy's POV:**

I cannot feel my legs on anything below them. My mouth pours blood onto the forrest ground below me and I cannot move. All around me is numb and my vision on the floor blindly blurs. Despite this immense about of pain, I do not feel sorry for myself. The hot tears that pool down my face, they are not present because of self pity. I had, over the amount of time that I have been laying here, managed to pull together the strength needed in order to pull my arms across my head and press my face against them. I don't know how long I've been here, mainly because I assume I've been in and out of consciousness. This now, this is not because of Harry's doing. Rather, it is the pain in my side that I cannot fathom. It burns and digs into me deeper. The throbbing feeling in my head makes my skull feel massive and heavy. The tingling feeling of pins and needles further clarifies that I lack any sensations that I may need in order to move. There is an icy feeling in my throat and I feel as if I have just surfaced from drowning.

There is not a sound to be heard, but laying on the ground, I can almost hear the night sky laughing at me. When did I become so pathetic? What is _wrong_ with me? My chest heaves with sobs, and I am beginning to feel myself pass out again. I am not ready for this, not ready to once again loose consciousness on the ground of a place so unfamiliar. Despite all that I can't feel, I notice my eyes as they find their way to the back of my head and I am pleading to myself. I am thinking as I try to pull myself back into the real world, "_No, no, no, no, no." _It takes all that is left in me to pull my eyes back to the surrounding forrest and when I regain composure, I am only somewhat satisfied to know that I have only just saved myself.

Potter. This was all Potter's fault; he'd jumped to conclusions too quickly like always. Of course he blamed me- did he not _get _it? With a meek sigh, I admit to myself: he's right. They're all right. Whatever he is talking about, he's right. I'd noticed this early, back a couple years ago: I didn't have the stomach for this. Bitterly, I remember my mother as she brought me to sleep one night recently. I'd already shamed our family's name and she had said to me as she gently brushed the bruises over my eyes. My mother had chosen to try and ignore what the Cruciatus Curses' effects had done to my current appearance. She'd said to me as she brought the covers to my chin, "Don't feel bad about what's happened, Draco." Even now I can hear the intense worry in her voice. She had looked around to check if we were alone and, once she'd made utterly sure, only then did she lean in close and whisper into my reluctant ear, "maybe this isn't for you. You might be different, Draco. For now," she said, leaning away, her hand running up and down my shoulder. I hadn't wanted to listen to her then, and I shut my eyes just to let her know that I am not in the mood. She'd said, "for now, I'm proud of you. I know-- you don't believe it... but I'm...I'm glad you're my son."

Don't make me laugh, I wanted to scream at her now. Proud? If only she could see me now, lying on the ground of the forrest, wishing I was able to only just stand up. Another bitter sob rushes through my chest. I both want to make Harry Potter suffer and understand. There is a sinking feeling in my chest; my heart feels as black as a space hole. And then it comes again, the painstakingly harsh stab in my gut. With a slight yelp I can feel dizziness coming on before it even happens. The forrest spins like a top around me, whirling the night in a circle above so fast that I have to shut my eyes in order not to feel nauseous. That sickening feeling in my stomach, it burns and rises like acid into my throat and I hold down any hint of sick. What's going on with me? I feel like I'm sinking into the ground, feel like I'm in a speeding car that's only just lost all control.

I forget to remind myself: when my mother had bid me goodnight, Aunt Bellatrix was waiting at the door. My mother planted a kiss on the bruise above my eye and left me laying there and I listened to their shamefully contradicting conversation. Bellatrix, she said, "Draco should have been proud." It was the same thing that she'd been telling both me and my parents for a rather long while. "The Dark Lord trusted him with an order. There's no wonder our family name has been absolutely _disgraced." _

_"Hush,_ Bella." My mother had said, her timid shadow moving from underneath the doorframe. They'd stood there for a while and my mother sounded pathetic as she tried to dodge around the painful fact. I heard every word, and my mother's reassurance did nothing.

It's creeping up on me liked I feared it would, that overwhelming feeling of agonizing awareness. I am sore and tender under the coat of throbbing and raw flesh. The excruciating pain cuts through my sides and widens as it spreads through my entire torso. It hurts, but it is not the most pain I've ever had. As my eyes flicker about the forrest, I think shamefully about the burning curse I'd never forget. _"Crucio!" _The memory of Voldemort's cut-edge voice rings through my head and my back involuntarily arches. White lights pop in front of my eyes and I think it might be the stars. It takes me a while to notice that I am not fully seeing straight. _Pop, pop, pop_: something unhinges in the back of my neck.

Potter. I want to wring Potter's slimy little neck. I want nothing more than to shut Ginny, Ron, and George Weasley up. On the floor I try and push back the urge to pull myself up to my feet and advance into Hermione Granger's room and tell her that no matter how bad she thinks it can get- I've always seen worse. I want the whole lot of them to disappear and leave me be. However, as I cringe and writhe on the floor my wish to be alone could not have been more inaccurate.

I am pathetic. I find myself wishing my mother were here standing over me and whispering false bits of encouragements. I wish she could tell me how 'proud' she is of me now, lying on the floor. My eyes fly back to my skull again and I'm gurgling blood and spit that I can't spill over. At last I cough the remaining bits of it out and it falls down the side of my already messy face. I can't think as the stabbing sensation presses back into my gut. Air is something impossible to me and as I gasp feebly for it, I know that all efforts will go rather unsuccessful. Something painful strikes in my chest and I cough, once again feeling the dizziness form around me. But this time it happens too fast and there's no time for me to try and stop it.

A swift rush of paleness rushes over me and I gasp for air as my eyes fly backwards. Before I can try and stop it, the white light fades and I am left inside nothing but black.

In my nightmare, it is a memory that I dream of. It is a time and a place of the past and it is also something that I'd wanted to forget._ "Draco,"_ someone says from all around me in my dream, _"give Rowle another taste of our displeasure..."_

In this dream, this haunting hallucination, all dark shapes shift mesmerizingly into place: my dream reveals me to be standing in the middle of my dimly lit house, shoulders slumped, wand limp and held to the ground. On the floor is the figure of a blond and rather large man, curled up in a tight ball. The amount of sweat pouring down his pale face is unfathomable and yet he still manages the strength inside to let out a little yelp. Fingers digging into Rowle's surplus amount of forearm flesh, an unseen figure drags the quivering man to his feet and pushes him forward. Voldemort's high-pitched voice comes at my neck. _"Do it, or feel my wrath yourself."_

In my dream, I relive the very moment as the cold hand grips the back of my neck and strokes before yanking itself away hastily. Voldemort has pulled himself far away from the lot of us and at my ear, Bellatrix whispers, dragging along every single syllable, "the basement will do." I dream of the moment where I raise my own wand, pressing the tip of it into Rowle's meaty back. He staggers forward as I whisper directions for him to graciously follow. Voldemort, he is at my heel, gliding along the floor of the house I'd once grown up in. However, he is not looking at me; his eyes weld into the flip side of Rowle's blond head, a trickle of sweat lingers down his clammy neck.

He whispers slowly, "here."

Rowle picks up a subtle whisper. There is a chill down my spine as I descend with Voldemort and Rowle, the other Death Eaters clambering behind. All except that of my mother, she is no where in sight as the basement door slams itself slightly shut. "P-please, Potter...Granger, W-Weasley. They w-were there. We...I-I had not a chance to..."

_"...Clearly," _says a voice behind me that I know belongs to the Dark Lord, "_you were, as it so seems, a bit too late. Draco, now." _Quickly, the towering skeleton of a man walks from the center of our cluster to the corner of the room, his back facing us. His eyes bare into the wall opposite him and when I don't move, he repeats, "_Now, Draco..."_

My voice is no more than a dry stammer, "_C-Crucio!" _I am Voldemort's little puppet.

Nothing happens- nothing at all. On the floor, Rowle's horrified eye pokes out from underneath his large fingers and he looks back up at me. Inside his mind, I know he is praying that I will further screw up the Unforgivable spell. His lower lip quivers and, silently, he mouths a plea back up in my lumbering direction. "Draco," comes a new voice. It is that of my fathers, leaning forwards, dribbling a fountain of sweat of his own. "Draco, please..." I know how much he wants this. There is no denying how much he utterly and immensely wants this; I had failed with my previous task of killing Dumbledore. It is his only hope that I can produce such torture on this brick of a man. Rowle continues to cower, wincing as the Dark Lord's shadow lingers still against the wall of the dingy little basement.

_"...Do as you are told."_

On the floor, Rowle looks only as if he is about to pass out himself. He lays, quivering, and I try as much as I can to keep my mind steady. _"CRUCIO!" _I almost yell too loud, but despite this, it works. Rowle's body does a twitch and he writhes on the floor of the basement, clutching his stomach with one large moan. I know how he feels and I watch with a kind of awe, too stunned to lower my own wand, too involved to call the spell off early. There is a coughing sound from Rowle's throat and his hands scatter around his own hefty body, trying to cool the feeling of burning bones. Around me, a laugh echoes. It is laughter that is so high-pitched, it can only belong to Bellatrix; she hops up and down with sheer excitement.

My mind races. I don't know when to stop it. If I do it know- will it be too early? Moments seem to linger on in to long minutes and I wince as saliva drips freely from the corner of Rowle's mouth. His eyes take a quick roll back into his head and after a long moment, he is still. Mouth hung open, flowing of spit, for a moment I think I've killed him. "Pansy," Bellatrix says with a little giggle behind me. "He's knocked himself unconscious." A nervous jerk in my hand makes me lower the wand and at once Rowle's sleeping body becomes still.

Voldemort, lingering just near me, he faces the back wall and he doesn't move. And neither do I, my eyes remain burning into Rowle's enormous body, watching him through barely clear eyes. The shadows of my dream, they twirl, tumble and fold, and then I pull my eyes once more open, facing nothing around me but the moonlit forrest.

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**Vonne: **Sorry if this was short. But it wasn't meant to be short. So, keep that in mind, if that helps any... HA-HA.

Sorry, no sneak peak today..I haven't wrote anything yet. :/

REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW.


	15. The Lost and Found

**Vonne: **I promised, promised, _promised _to make this chapter longer than the last. So, I really tried to extend this one, truly. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the long_ish_ chapter. My plan is to continue this fiction until about twenty-something or thirty chapters. My only worry is that it becomes a run on fiction, and I do not want that to happen. SO, in order to fully avoid that, I'm going to try and fit all the necessary parts to this, without going overboard. Maybe I'll write more fanfiction after this, who knows? Otherwise, there's still a while to go with this one, and I'm glad that you're all following it. Oh, and before you DO read this: I'm apologizing in advance for the bad writing on this one. I was in a hurry and, while re-reading this, I realize how much I did not focus while writing it. Please, please, ignore the horrible atrocity that I dared to call chapter fifteen.

Thanks _so much _again. That being said, the review responses are below for all of you. See if you can find your name below- maybe I've answered your questions?

**Rosebud23: **Ah, I know- sorry about not having a sneak peak for this chapter. It was because I hadn't even started on this yet; to be quite honest I wrote this from the top of my head and I'm not even sure how much I liked it. I know, I wanted to throw a kind of side-road chapter in here because I'm trying to set a certain number of chapters as a little challenge for myself. HA-HA, but I know almost all of you are as big of Draco fans as I am, so I figured you'd all fancy it. ;) I'm glad you liked the way I wrote him. Thanks! Oh, and congratulations for starting college! Have fun!

**Reidluver: **Oh, you're starting college, too, huh? Well, congratulations, as well! HA-HA, I'm glad you liked the last chapter. Don't hate Harry too, too much- he's an impulsive little fellow, at times. :)

**Dramione1996: **I actually wish I wrote this in the sense that Ron finds Draco. That would have been a good, idea. HA-HA. Darn.

**These Trees Rule:** Well, actually I'm glad I have you going under some sort of suspense. I hope you don't die, because this chapter will only raise a few more questions, but the next couple chapters- I swear, will be a lot more helpful. I hope you do like this chapter, despite it lacking any revolution. Thanks so much for all the reviews you've given me too. I appreciate it very much so.

**Leroy UP: **Thank you for all your reviews. I love hearing from you.

**LE Candeh: **Same goes for you from what I wrote to Leroy UP. You guys have no idea how much I value your reviews on every chapter. It's great. Thank you so much.

**Mark: **Oh, I do hope you manage to find your password soon. I'm still rooting for you.

Sorry I don't have all you guys down today. I wrote this before I got a lot of your reviews..

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**Chapter Fifteen:  
The Lost and Found**

"Hermione Granger shifted in her space, the sweat trickling down her forehead serving her somewhat of an annoyance. She fumbled with it mildly, as if to calm her own nerves, and then said as if waiting for the most proper moment, "Draco's... in his room, is he?" And she'd admittedly said it because she wasn't quite sure if he was- wasn't quite sure where he was, to be more accurate. With a moment of uncertainty, she wriggle upon the stool once more and raised her eyes up at Harry, who she figured might provide her with such a satisfactory answer. However, when he only shrugged, looking rather guilty, did she reel upwards and let her face completely drop. "You know," she said quickly, her fingers gripping hard into the edges of the seat, "I haven't seen him and, usually he's--" Across from her, George suggested that he might be knocked unconscious someplace on the floor. "-- USUALLY he's around here someplace. Whether or not," she said, slightly proud, "he's on the ground asleep."

"I wouldn't be too worked up over it, 'Mione." Grunted Ron, who turned to Harry, hopeful for confirmation. However, Harry's guilty expression didn't fade and Hermione pressed herself forward. She analyzed Harry's face for only several moments before letting herself grunt all knowingly.

"You know something don't you?" She said demandingly. "Harry? Do you know something?" And when he didn't directly respond, she said sternly, "oh, come off it Harry Potter, I know you do."

Jeeringly, Harry said with a stubborn tone, "he deserved what he got, Hermione." And at once he took to pacing the floor. The blameful expression had blended into what seemed to be a mixture of remorseful regret and undeniable satisfaction. He couldn't, as it so seemed, quite make up his mind on which way to properly look at the situation. Despite this, Hermione met him at a stance and asked calmly where he'd happened to leave Draco. "He's somewhere out in the back forrest," Harry said, "What? You should have seen the memory I saw, Hermione. There were at least a dozen people _killed _and Malfoy couldn't give a damn about--"

Hermione, however, only seemed to hear the first part of his statement. "In the forrest?" She said, her mouth hanging open to her knees. "Harry, you left him in the forrest?"

Casually, Harry said, "Well... yeah." And at once Hermione took him by the arm, a forceful look upon her face.

She said through gritted teeth, "Harry Potter, you'd better hope nothing horrible has happened to him." At once Harry's face drained of color. He allowed his posture to slump quite rationally and gaped openly back at Hermione, his eyes wide behind his foggy glasses. It was something he hadn't thought about earlier, at the time when he'd been so furious at Malfoy. In his bit of rage, he hadn't put much thought into what might have happened afterwards. Fumbling to get Hermione to slacken her grip on his arm, Harry stumbled towards the door with such anxiety that he almost lost balance of himself. Behind him, the footsteps of Hermione, Ron, George, and Ginny pounded about the walls, echoing like the sound of rain. Determined, Harry ignored the calls of Hermione from behind him, her furious voice promising the horrors of what she'd do to him if something in fact had happened to Malfoy. He led the group back outside, out on to the wet grass, and stumbled back into the forrest, his eyes wide and hopeful. Desperate and hurriedly, Harry's hands bushed aside branches in his way, peered about the emerald-like place before shouting out.

"Malfoy!" He said, and his heart skipped a beat. The fury he'd felt only the night before had melted into a bit of jittery fear. "Oh, no." He found himself saying over and over again, callously slapping himself across the forehead. "Oh, no. _Humenum Revelio!" _When nothing came to his sight, however, Harry peddled backwards. Pressing his back up against a large and arched tree trunk, he let out a rather frustrated groan.

Harry felt Hermione's presence behind him before he could even begin to start a dry, nervous pant. "You can't _find _him?" She said, and she locked her fingers tight around Harry's arm. "Do not tell me you've misplaced him, Harry Potter." Okay, so he wouldn't tell her.

Denial crept in like chills up his spine and, plunging his hands deep into his pickets, Harry said, "look, maybe he got up and went back in the center? I hardly touched him..." But the cold tingle of guilt still wore heavy on his back. Ron, George, and Ginny exchanged similar looks before following Harry and Hermione back in towards the center, their footsteps a loud clammer down the stone hallway. "Couldn't have gotten too far," Harry said over the ever persisting sound of his anxious heart. Hermione's fingers dug in deeper; she hadn't let her grip go since they'd all headed back towards Ashby's office building. And it was only until they had gotten about half way down the corridor that she managed to turn around and stop, dead in her tracks.

She said, "Harry," and worry was stamped across her face, "you don't know what could have happened to Malfoy. You were the last to see him; _y__ou're responsible_! Don't you understand how much trouble--" However, just as she'd rounded about finishing up, the door to Ashby's office swung open and, standing there in the frame, was the stout old therapist, looking rather perplexed. Hermione's anxious visage transformed into that of instant surprise. Her pale face lit up bright red and as she peered in through the door, she spotted what she'd been previously looking for. "Malfoy?" She managed to say weakly, her shoulders dropping.

"Mr. Malfoy," Ashby said, finishing off Hermione's trailing sentence, "is currently in a one-on-one session with me." From their spot outside the room, the view of Malfoy was rather hard to come by, but surely unmistakeable. He lay slumped across the couch, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, dripping sweat. Even from their view a ways away, the faded dark mark stood out like a horrible reminder. No doubt, he was utterly unconscious. From her spot in the distance, Hermione gaped bewildered, and Ashby's posture remained sheerly confident. "Is there a problem?" He asked the group curiously after a long while.

Harry, his fingers fiddling with the collar of his shirt, stepped bravely forward, his head tilted strangely to one side. "Er-- Sir, where did you find Malfoy this morning?"

Ashby raised his own eyebrow, "Where I always find him, Mr. Potter," he said a little too slowly, "in his bedroom."

Ginny cocked her head towards the sleeping Draco, "And you found him there-- like that?"

"No, not quite." The twinkling look in Ashby's eye signified his blatant confusion. "He's rather tired and, quite frankly, I'm a little, ah, in the middle of---"

"Oh, no, please." Harry's bewilderment caused him to slightly stammer. "Thank you, sir." And he nodded a okay to let Ashby know he could go ahead and shut the door. Once they stood alone in the hallway again, he turned back to Hermione and said with such anxiety that he may have in fact fallen unconscious himself, "see, Hermione, what did I tell you?" Ron's face lightened and, jokingly, he slapped Harry on the back before giving his siblings an innocent shrug. Hermione, however, didn't find it quite as humorous. As relief surged through her body, she still managed the courage to stride up to Harry and slap him somewhat seriously on the arm. She walked ahead of them with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"Well, that's a load off, huh?" Ron said with a goofy smile, just as his own butterflies stilled in the pit of his stomach. He flopped loosely down on the couch and slipped his arms underneath his head.

"A _load off?"_ Hermione practically yelped. She slapped her boyfriend across the crown of his head before taking a seat next to him as far away as possible. "Do you two not realize--"

"Aw, Hermione," George said, matching Ron's boyish grin, "he's fine, you saw him."

"FINE?" This time, however, Hermione did manage to shriek. She leaned forward on the couch and said with a red face, "did you not see in there? Are you completely _blind?_" And then, despite her sudden burst of rage, she slipped back against Ron's shoulder and said with a simple sigh, "you're lucky he's safe with Ashby, Harry." She shut her eyes, her hand resting sorrowfully on her chest, "I hope you realize that." They sat there in silence, frozen on the couch.

It was Harry, however, who still felt the jitters in his body. He paced the living room, hands behind his back, and chewed on his lip until finally he withdrew himself from the room and headed up towards his own bedroom. He should feel bad, and he did; this, of course, had not been the first time he'd let his anger get the absolute best of him. He pressed his perspiring back up against the wall and let himself slide down its front. Once he'd met the ground, he buried his head in the palms of his wet hands and muttered furiously to himself, "_dammit!" _The view of Draco Malfoy, pale and perplexed, stung forever in his buzzing mind. Hermione was right; what if something had happened to him? It would have been all his fault. And it wasn't as if he'd regretted giving Malfoy exactly what he'd deserved, of course. It was, therefore, the fact that, once again, his impulse had fueled him. "Dammit," he cried and swiftly he kicked the dresser opposite him. As wild and reckless as his godfather, Sirius Black, Harry Potter sat wondering if there would be a time when he could finally get a hold of himself.

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**Harry's POV:**

Dammit Sirius- of all the things I could have inherited from you and my father, it was the restlessness of the two of you combined. Thanks a lot, I really, _truly_ appreciate it.

The back of my head says and I sit there pointing the finger, "'_it's no use to blame the looking glass if your face is awry...'_" Yeah, yeah, yeah; I know.

I bang the back of my head against the wall behind me one last time before pulling both of my eyes open and staring the room around me down feverishly. It is a rather neat room, despite my habits of being rather messy. Ginny had been, of course, the one who'd originally urged me to try out this new surge of cleanliness. Looking it over, I'd once decided that I had quite liked the organized view of it all- every thing was in place and at the ready. As it so seemed, having a clean room did in fact prove to be less of a struggle, I could probably locate a pin in the middle of the room at this very moment. In all my concentration, I could almost see an imaginary needle sparkle in the distance. However, despite all this cleanliness, something inside me suddenly hates it- despises it greatly, as it so seems. Something thundering hard in my chest makes me want to stand up and stagger to the middle of the room. At the moment where I watch the room fuming, I want nothing more but to advance upon the neat bed and toss the covers off of the mattress. I want to topple the nice little dresser over with a swift kick. I want to wave my wand and hear the crash of the furniture as it slaps against the ground, shattering into one million bite sized pieces.

What had happened, it was all my fault. Hermione knew this just as well as I did. Ginny and Ron and George, they all knew this, even if they didn't want to let me know it. I don't move to destroy the furniture, I'd already had enough. Stupidity is the name that echoes around me and, giving one last simple sigh, I blink back what I'm surprised to be tears behind my stinging eyelids. Dammit. Maybe I can't truly blame Sirius or my father, but now, sitting her miserable, I sure as hell want to.

"Harry?" The meek little voice that echoes up the stairs and ghostly through my closed bedroom door, it is no doubt Ginny's. "Harry, are you alright up there?" I don't answer her because I think she already really knows the answer. And it is only until I hear her footsteps climbing the staircase towards me that I whisk the tears away with the sleeve of my sweater and attempt to stand up. In the mirror across from me, I catch my careful reflection. My composure lacks perfection and quivers slightly with obvious discomfort. When she reaches the top of the stair cases and browses the floor to my bedroom, Ginny doesn't bother to actually knock. She takes one sultry look at me and says with absolute sadness, "Harry..." her trailing voice gave way and she came up to me slowly.

"Yea?" I say, as if I don't have a clue.

"Harry," she says again and when she is only a couple inches away from me, she tilts her head to the right. As she does so, several locks of shimmering red hair falls over her lingering shoulder. "Harry, what's the matter, huh? Are you ill? Do you need anything?" When I shrug, her simpering expression vanishes and she says, stoney faced, "Harry, talk to me."

My eyes anxiously flutter. "I know," I finally say, leaning forward, and I press my head on her shoulder. She doesn't find the gesture as sweet as I'd hoped and, grabbing my cheeks, she brings my head forward.

She doesn't say anything, but her eyes practically scream, "cut the bullshit."

"Gin," I say, recomposing myself, "I shouldn't have overreacted..."

"With?-- oh, the Malfoy business? Harry," this time, her voice does truly soften. "You've always been a little... impulsive. I'm not saying you should excuse yourself for what you did but I'm just saying," her eyes sweetly shift and she gazes slightly as the door before whispering back to me, "I'm saying I'm sure you had a good reason to do whatever you did." In this way her face lightens up, she looks so beautiful that I want to lift her up and spin her around in circles. I manage, though I don't know how, to keep whatever composure I have left in me. With a little squeeze she brings me closer towards her and then backs away, smiling. "Don't feel bad. Er-- at least, don't feel too bad. Harry, look at me. You promise?"

"Yeah," I say, shrugging, but my acting ability proves not to be so ingenious.

"Harry," she says, "one more time like you really mean it."

I straighten my shoulders, square my jaw, and say proudly, "I promise." This is a lie, but Ginny's smile widens and she says she's proud of me, despite it all. I find myself thanking God that she so quickly buys it. There is a quick bustle of her feet and she moves even closer, slipping her arm around mine. She tugs for a moment, pulling me towards the doorway, but when I don't budge, her smile once again fades. "Ginny," I say slowly, "I'm fine, really. I just need some time alone, okay? Is that alright?"

"Er---" at once she drops her arm and backs away, looking somewhat baffled. "Okay," she continues, and I see that I've offended her, "are you planning--"

"Yeah," I try a simple smile, "I'll be down there shortly, of course. Ginny," I nod towards her, and she spins around anxiously as she manages to bring herself towards the door, "thank you. You know, for coming up here. You've helped me out, really." At this, Ginny's hand slips from the doorframe and she nods, unconvinced. She is back down the staircase with a sorry frown and out of my sight before I can think up what to say next.

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**Vonne: **PLEASE REVIEW. I have a sneak peak for this chapter from the next one coming up. If you want to get to it sooner... you all know exactly what to do, of course. So, here you go, the preview from chapter sixteen is underneath all this nonsense:

**Chapter Sixteen:  
Excerpt**

_Draco's POV:  
__Eyes closed, breath muffled, I know that I have only just woke up. The clicking grandfather clock against the wall, it mixes in with the pacing sound of Ashby's ever lingering footsteps. I'm not fully sure how long I've been out for, but the cushion feeling on my back suggests that I'm no longer outside, but in the comfort of Ashby's little indoor office. If only I'd felt this place to be a safe one. Coming to, my mind both races and slows. Whether or not Ashby knows I've woken behind my shut eyes, I am unaware but I hope that he is utterly clueless. The slow side of my mind, it quivers in and out, threatening to slip back once again into complete darkness. I manage to pull off staying away and I listen carefully to the ticking clock. I'm not sure what time it is, and I decide abruptly that I'm not about to open my eyes in order to try and figure it out._

_What has seemed to escape me, of course, is any recollection from the night before. Little snippets, like flashes of motion pictures, envelop my mind; I am breathing slowly, laying on the floor, my arms twisted around my sweating skull. Something around me rustles- it is the swoosh flap of crow's wings. And then I am back to reality, the darkness behind my shut eyelids. The footsteps near me and then spin away and the circle Ashby makes before me is growing tighter and tighter with each passing moment. How I'd transfered from the forrest floor, to the cushion of Ashby's chair is beyond me and I rack my brain with a pathetic hint of desperation. Flash! Like watching a grainy film, I remember the sound of unmistakeable whispers. They are so familiar, but I cannot, for the life of me, place it to an owner._

_My chest heaves up and down and back, the shivering unsteadiness does not settle and, desperate, I hold my breath for hopes of appearing transfixed with sleep. The familiar voice echoes again me. For a moment, I think I am only remembering last night's intruder. It takes a moment for me to realize that this, this voice in my head, was not my imagination: "Mr. Malfoy, open your eyes." I do not oblige and in my head I count backwards from ten. The counter-count, it does not revive me from my nerves, does not aid in calming me down. "Open your eyes, Mr. Malfoy." Like a breath of stale air, my eyes burst open only to meet the face of Ashby, he's stopping his nonsense pacing. "Very good," he praises, "I've been waiting for you to do that for a long while now. Surely, you didn't think I'd fall for you faking it? I wasn't born yesterday." He stares down at me and then, taking a knee, he cocks his thick head to one side. "Now," he said with a kind of tutting noise, "we can't have this. You look awful. Truly awful. Sit up, please."_

_I don't move. Don't dare move a muscle. However, he gently approaches my side and does the moving for me; one hand underneath each of my arms and all movement has been accomplished. In a slightly crooked fashion, I am sitting slanted on the couch, still pouring a bucket's amount of sweat. "Have some water," he offers, and pushes a glass tenderly in my face. However, when I don't move, he says, "now tell me, what happened last night?"_

REVIEW! THANKS!


	16. Forget Me Not

**Vonne: **I was at work almost all day today, so I had plenty of time to write this, actually. Believe it or not, the place I work at is very, very relaxing- I've got a ton of time on my hands. That being said, this chapter may be a little long- but isn't that a good thing? Oh, and if you're curious, I work at a salon, there's REALLY not much to do when it gets slow. Oh how I wish people were more insecure. Anyways, there are review responses below, as well a sneak peek into the next chapter. Check to see if your name is below and if your questions have been answered. Then, read, review, and read through the sneak peek below! REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW!

**Dramione1996: **Aw, good. I'm glad you liked the last chapter. I wasn't too fond of it myself, so I wasn't sure how everyone else would like it. HA-HA, and I must say that Harry deserves to be deducted of gold stars. As for any Draco/Ron romance- no, sorry. I don't do male on male pairings. Usually I try to stay as close to the books as possible. ;)

**Reidluver: **I really wanted to have Harry feel bad, because I think, going by the books, Harry would have had some sort of guilt about it. I mean, after Sectumsempra was used on Malfoy, Harry decided to get rid of Snape's old potions book. So, I'd kind of wrote the last chapter in reminder of that. Thanks for the reviews- I'm glad you're excited about what's coming next. Hopefully it'll be a surprise.

**Rosebud23: **I figured Harry would feel bad directly after acting impulsively. HA-HA silly Harry. I'm glad you also noticed the Sirius connection. I try to throw the Maurders in everything whenever possible. :)

**E V A N: **I don't usually respond to unsigned reviews, but I'm glad that you review as often as you do. Thanks so much for all the feedback, as usual, I always appreciate it.

**LeCandeh: **Once again, gotta thank you for all the reviews.

**Mark: **As always, find that password!! :)

**Letty87: **WOW! First of all, thank you so much for that review. I really appreciate that you liked what you've read so far and your comments truly made my day. I am so unbelievably glad that you're enjoying this as much as you are. Honestly, thank you. HA-HA isn't it funny how real Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Draco etc seem? When I was a kid I used to think to myself, "I wonder what Ron's doing at this moment?" and I would make stuff up about them. Which really trigged all of this, mind you. HA-HA after reading and then re-reading Deathly Hallows I had to think to myself, "I wonder what's going on with all of them NOW?"  
Anyways, thanks so much for all your compliments. It means so much to me. Thank you! :)

Thanks for al of you who actually reviewed. I know I haven't responded to all of you, but I truly try my best. I appreciate all the reviews I have.

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**Chapter Sixteen:  
Forget Me Not**

_Draco Malfoy's POV:_  
Eyes closed, breath muffled, I know that I have only just woke up. The clicking grandfather clock against the wall, it mixes in with the pacing sound of Ashby's ever lingering footsteps. I'm not fully sure how long I've been out for, but the cushion feeling on my back suggests that I'm no longer outside, but in the comfort of Ashby's little indoor office. If only I'd felt this place to be a safe one. Coming to, my mind both races and slows. Whether or not Ashby knows I've woken behind my shut eyes, I am unaware but I hope that he is utterly clueless. The slow side of my mind, it quivers in and out, threatening to slip back once again into complete darkness. I manage to pull off staying away and I listen carefully to the ticking clock. I'm not sure what time it is, and I decide abruptly that I'm not about to open my eyes in order to try and figure it out.

What has seemed to escape me, of course, is any recollection from the night before. Little snippets, like flashes of motion pictures, envelop my mind; I am breathing slowly, laying on the floor, my arms twisted around my sweating skull. Something around me rustles- it is the swoosh flap of crow's wings. And then I am back to reality, the darkness behind my shut eyelids. The footsteps near me and then spin away and the circle Ashby makes before me is growing tighter and tighter with each passing moment. How I'd transfered from the forrest floor, to the cushion of Ashby's chair is beyond me and I rack my brain with a pathetic hint of desperation. Flash! Like watching a grainy film, I remember the sound of unmistakeable whispers. They are so familiar, but I cannot, for the life of me, place it to an owner.

My chest heaves up and down and back, the shivering unsteadiness does not settle and, desperate, I hold my breath for hopes of appearing transfixed with sleep. The familiar voice echoes again me. For a moment, I think I am only remembering last night's intruder. It takes a moment for me to realize that this, this voice in my head, was not my imagination: "Mr. Malfoy, open your eyes." I do not oblige and in my head I count backwards from ten. The counter-count, it does not revive me from my nerves, does not aid in calming me down. "Open your eyes, Mr. Malfoy." Like a breath of stale air, my eyes burst open only to meet the face of Ashby, he's stopping his nonsense pacing. "Very good," he praises, "I've been waiting for you to do that for a long while now. Surely, you didn't think I'd fall for you faking it? I wasn't born yesterday." He stares down at me and then, taking a knee, he cocks his thick head to one side. "Now," he said with a kind of tutting noise, "we can't have this. You look awful. Truly awful. Sit up, please."

I don't move. Don't dare move a muscle. However, he gently approaches my side and does the moving for me; one hand underneath each of my arms and all movement has been accomplished. In a slightly crooked fashion, I am sitting slanted on the couch, still pouring a bucket's amount of sweat. "Have some water," he offers, and pushes a glass tenderly in my face. However, when I don't move, he says, "now tell me, what happened last night?"

I couldn't have told him even if I wanted to. Ashby however, continues on for me, hinting as he says, "tell me, Mr. Malfoy, why I happened to find you in such an awful shape in the middle of the backyard forrest?" Once again, I decide upon not saying a word and Ashby seemingly doesn't catch up on this. He adds as if expecting me to answer him fully, "And why Mr. Potter and his friends were so bothered over your whereabouts." Potter. Bothered, was he? Inside my veins, hot blood begins to boil. Ashby, he says raising a bushy brow, "I have all day to wait until you decide to talk, Mr. Malfoy." He smiles, despite the obvious annoyance.

"None of this would have happened," I say in a voice that sounds a bit too weak, "if _you_ hadn't shown Potter any memories of mine. He thinks I've killed someone, thanks to _you._ You've violated our patient-therapist confidentiality- I don't have to answer to you anymore." I straighten my body upwards, rather proud of myself. However, at this direct movement, a flash of scarlet trickles down the left side of my face and, instantly I taste metal under my tongue. What is _going on?_

"Draco," Ashby persists, "I am unaware of your accusations. Mr. Potter was not shown anything of yours- I can assure you." I don't give any response and Ashby, he says, "you said Mr. Potter is under the impression that you've committed murder? Well, what memory could I possibly have shown him to give him that idea?" He has, admittedly stumped me. When he sees this, he lets himself fully smile and lifts a hand and pats me on the back. I flinch, but Ashby remains severely calm. "Okay?"

I don't quite answer them. Instead my mind wanders to the blood and I say, chokingly, "what's happening?"

"Happening?" Ashby says, and then he finally backs away. When he reaches the desk, he says again, "I was hoping you could tell me." Again, I offer him no response. "Last night, Mr. Malfoy, as I found you were missing from yet another session, I set off looking for you. When I finally found you, you were laying in the middle of the back forrest, pouring sweat and blood, hovering in and out of consciousness. Naturally, you muttered a few things on the way back---"

_Flash! _Across my mind clicked like camera flash came images of last night. He was there, dragging me across the dewy grass in the back of the center. His hands enveloped around my ankles. He grunted something I couldn't make out and the memory flashed away. "You came to get me."

"Ah, yes." Ashby nods, and he says, "it was in the dead night- or morning, to be more accurate- we went otherwise vaguely unnoticed." I don't care whether or not we had been noticed. As he continues to act blank, I attempt to pull myself up. The effort as it so seems, is unsuccessful. I tumble back to the cushion and look up at Ashby, rather bewildered. "Just relax, Draco. Please, drink some water." And he nears me and presses the glass to my mouth and expect me to take a sip. However, I only narrow my eyes at him and he moves away, defeated. "Look, I'm not excusing Mr. Potter for what he did to you, but I can assure you that his actions had nothing to do with me. My practice is entirely confidential. Your father has confidence in that, I thought you would, too."

"After you found me," I say, ignoring him, "you just brought me here? Right here to your office?" He nods, placing the glass back on his desk untouched. "So what, pray tell, am I still doing here?"

Ashby reels back, as if struck by my bluntness. "You know," he says stilly, "for someone who has seemed to have changed their ways, you still seem to be a bit on the rude side."

"Go figure."

For a moment Ashby stares me down, as if a challenge. His large eyes trace my face and when they stop, they lock directly into my own eyes. Ashby says without moving a muscle, "Nevertheless, I was hoping we could start up on a session."

"Surely, you're joking." I find my reflection in the mirror across from me. I am wet and bloody. The blood trail that had oozed from the corner of my forehead has reached the edge of my mouth, mixing in with the blood from the cut on my tongue. What's worse is the large black bags under each of my eyes, they stand out like a sore thumb. Ah, speaking of fingers, I cannot seem to feel mine.

The pain in my side has crept up around my entire torso and all around I am throbbing. All this, and Ashby expects me to sit up straight, put on a smile, and tell him how I feel. "I would not joke about such a thing," Ashby clarifies, slightly bewildered.

"Well, then," I manage to say coldly, "you thought wrong." If I could bring myself up to stand, I would have backed myself across the room and right out of the door.

Ashby, he cocks his head to the door and says impatiently, "then you're free to leave." I can't. I say this out loud, to which Ashby slyly responds, "well then, that's a problem now isn't it?" What he does next is take a seat across from me and cross his thick legs over one another. When he finishes staring at me for a long while, he lets out a long and tired breath. Before he shifts uncomfortably, he asks, "what's bothering you, Mr. Malfoy?"

"You're bothering me. There's-- there's something about you. I just can't put my finger on it."

"Something about me. Pray tell?" I shake my head and Ashby nods. He continues, instead, changing the subject completely, "what about yourself?"

"What about it?"

"What do you think about yourself? What do you think about your progress?"

"You know what I think? I think that when you slyly try and conduct a session with me, you're reducing any chance of possible progress." I say, mimicking his own words, "did you think I was born yesterday?" His gaze lingers for a moment. When he does manage to break it, he continues his questions, ignoring my obvious indulgence.

"What do you remember from the night before?"

"I already _told _you; I don't."

This time there is such a strong hint of displeasure in Ashby's visage. He doesn't even try to fake a smile. There's something about him that flinches, I can see it through the glossy little mirror. His cold glaring eyes have dropped and even staring at him I can just tell that his throat has run absolutely dry. There is a moment or two of this strange awkwardness and then he slumps back to his normal relaxed position, his posture slowly coming back to him. The seriousness has only taken him momentarily and there he is again, the careful and caring therapist he'd ever so strived to make himself out to be. "Ah, yes, you did. My mistake." He clears his throat and says almost naggingly, "Mr. Potter's actions did not include any of the Unforgivable--"I shake my head and he says, "ah. I will have a talk with him about it, then."

"Potter thought I'd committed some sort of murder. He said you'd showed him some memory of mine," I say back to him, my blood rising. Despite my current state, I want to leap off the couch and strangle this obnoxious man. I continue through gritted teeth, blood drips down the side of my pasty face, "he's absolutely out of his mind."

Ashby shrugs, ingloriously, "we all have our own issues."

My eyes narrow as I furiously mutter, "most certainly." And then the pain triples. It has graduated like before, from my side to all around my entire torso. It pierces me like a sharp blade at first and then spreads like rapid fire. It is enough to make me gasp and I double over, hands flying to the pit of my stomach. I cough as the pain aches and my mind goes into a quick blur. _Flash!_ I remember only the following from the night before: Ashby, after having dragged me across the center by my ankles, hoists me up onto the long couch and stares down at me curiously. Behind his glasses, his face is melting with sweat. The quick memory in my mind fades and I blink back up, the pain still seething in my gut. Ashby watching me, his eyes flutter and he leans forward with a strange amount of concern.

He says, mildily, "Is something bothering you, Mr. Malfoy?" But I tell him no. I tell him that nothing is wrong and I manage to pull myself up and stagger towards the door. Ashby watches me from his spot behind his desk and he asks carefully, "where are you going?"

I point out that he'd previously okayed my leave. "You said I could go," I inform him once again. "I'm leaving." I am out the door before he can protest and, blinking into the bright hallway, I begin the vague stumble that I've become all too familiar with.

When I reach the living quarters, I don't bother to give any of the others a passing glance- not that I would have either way. Clutching my throbbing head I continue the stumble and find myself grateful that someone hasn't taken to throwing a wad of paper at my head. Instead, they all stare gapingly at me and my eyes catch up with Harry Potter, who looks slightly astounded behind his thick glasses. The scar on his head catches my eye and his green eyes flicker to the dark mark on my pale forearm. However, I don't wait for even a chance to shamefully cover it. My presence before them is merely a seconds worth; I pass them by without letting them notice that I've even seen them there. My eyes stay transfixed on the carpet and I march up to my room silently and when I clamber up the stairs and whisk the door open, falling to the ground behind it, I almost barely hear George Weasley murmur, "what's wrong with _him?"_

_

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_

**Vonne: **REVIEWS MAKE ME :), VERY MUCH SO.

Below is a preview from the upcoming addition to the Chapter 17! You know what to do if you want it to come faster...

**Chapter Seventeen:  
Excerpt**

_The room, I feel, is closing in on me. Wall crunch in as if on cue. They linger for a moment and then narrow their way towards me. Everything is in perspective, as if I am the ceiling, or the mirror on the wall. I feel as if I am watching myself only, as I only see seeing white through the vision of my own eyes. In the foggy glass mirror, my reflection rocks back and forth and sickness overtakes me. Am I actually rocking or am I only imagining this boat-like sea sickness? Either way, I am stuck against the wall of my bedroom. The ample amount of sweat, it has reached the edge of my collared tee shirt, pooled around my neck and sits in the groove of my collarbone. It doesn't matter if I am imagining this; doesn't matter because the experience is real and the pain is real and every dammed stab in my side is undoubtedly real. Like an shock of electricity, there is sudden pressure in the pit of my nauseous, pathetic stomach. I don't hear myself moan, but I know I do as I lean forward and brace myself._

_It is Voldemort screaming, "Crucio!" all over again. I feel it like a bad memory. Seething, burning bones. Blistered and rotting flesh. The pain in my body makes me loose my grip on the wall, even in the position where'd I been previous sitting. I flop, loose like a fish, to the stone ground and cough, sputtering as if I'd only just barely drowned. New traces of blood pools from my head and I'm saying something aloud but I can't comprehend it. Like rapid pictures in my mind I see a mixture of the previous night's occurrences: I lie in the forest, hands over my face; Ashby finds me after a long walk around the black forrest; he grabs my ankles despite them being soaking wet and begins his drag me along the wet grass, drags me until he reaches the front door of his office; I am dragged to the middle of the room only half-conscious and hoisted up under the arms onto the lengthy chair; sweaty and fretting Ashby begins a hasty pace around the room._

_Then arrives something I don't see coming. There is a knock at the door that is hesitant at first. I barely hear this over the straining sound from my own throat. The knock picks up and the voice that slips through the crack under the door is an all too familiar one. Slow and curious, Harry Potter asks, "Malfoy?" _


	17. And Back Again

**Vonne: **I've had a long week. For me, school starts next week and I'm hoping to get this done before that time. So, if it comes to it, I will be uploading much faster than usual, with or without the amount of reviews I do like having. There is a possibility that I'll give up this goal of finishing before the start of school, though. Only because I'm hoping I'll have enough time to actually write this. I still want to get reviews on this, of course- I like knowing that I am not just writing this for my own amusement. So, please do review despite this. You know how much I really do appreciate it, as I so often remind you. Thanks again! Review responses below- check and see if you can find yourself.

**Letty87: **Well thanks! I'm glad you weren't disappointed! And maybe you are right about one Mr. Ashby, seems you aren't alone with your suspicions. Thanks for the review. As always, I hope you're just as happy with this chapter as you are with the last.

**Rosebud23: **HA-HA, Ashby is kind of a suspicious bloke, now isn't he? I'm glad you're excited. I hope you are happy with the way it ends...

**Dramione1996: **Aw, HA-HA I feel that EVERYONE should make a big fuss over Draco. And, once again, there's that hunch about Ashby. ;) And maybe Harry will get his star put back...or maybe not. Maybe he'll just piss you off a bit more- HAH. Thanks for the review. I appreciate all of them!

**Le Candeh: **You didn't really have a question- but thanks for the compliment, I appreciate it.

**Leroy UP: **Same to you what I'd just told Le Candeh; I love that you all review so much. Thanks, thanks, and thanks again. :)

**MCLanna: **Thanks for the review. And for your question about what's next to come- you're going to have to keep reading to find out. ;) Thanks again for the reviews.

Sorry I didn't address all of your questions. But I now this took a little on the long side to upload. Thanks for all of your patience. Please, please, please read and review. I love, love hearing from each and every one of you (even those of you who just put this on alert)- I get notices of that... I know who you are.

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**Chapter Seventeen:  
And Back Again**

_Draco Malfoy's POV:_  
The room, I feel, is closing in on me. Wall crunch in as if on cue. They linger for a moment and then narrow their way towards me. Everything is in perspective, as if I am the ceiling, or the mirror on the wall. I feel as if I am watching myself only, as I only see seeing white through the vision of my own eyes. In the foggy glass mirror, my reflection rocks back and forth and sickness overtakes me. Am I actually rocking or am I only imagining this boat-like sea sickness? Either way, I am stuck against the wall of my bedroom. The ample amount of sweat, it has reached the edge of my collared tee shirt, pooled around my neck and sits in the groove of my collarbone. It doesn't matter if I am imagining this; doesn't matter because the experience is real and the pain is real and every dammed stab in my side is undoubtedly real. Like an shock of electricity, there is sudden pressure in the pit of my nauseous, pathetic stomach. I don't hear myself moan, but I know I do as I lean forward and brace myself.

It is Voldemort screaming, "Crucio!" all over again. I feel it like a bad memory. Seething, burning bones. Blistered and rotting flesh. The pain in my body makes me loose my grip on the wall, even in the position where'd I been previous sitting. I flop, loose like a fish, to the stone ground and cough, sputtering as if I'd only just barely drowned. New traces of blood pools from my head and I'm saying something aloud but I can't comprehend it. Like rapid pictures in my mind I see a mixture of the previous night's occurrences: I lie in the forest, hands over my face; Ashby finds me after a long walk around the black forrest; he grabs my ankles despite them being soaking wet and begins his drag me along the wet grass, drags me until he reaches the front door of his office; I am dragged to the middle of the room only half-conscious and hoisted up under the arms onto the lengthy chair; sweaty and fretting Ashby begins a hasty pace around the room.

Ashby. There's something that isn't right about him. In the back of my mind, his steady voice whispers, "_I'm not excusing Mr. Potter for what he did to you." _Potter? Ashby had said he was unaware, said he did not anything about the ordeal in the forrest last night, assured me that he didn't. He'd asked, "_Mr. Potter's actions did not include any of the Unforgivable--"_. But he already knew the answer to that. The room once again beings a tilt around me. The night before is a vague memory except what flashes in and out of my mind. _Flash! _Ashby is swearing at the top of his breath as he paces on the floor around me. His face is melting sweat and he swipes it away furiously. Churning and twisting, I feel the pain that is all to familiar and I press my head backwards with yet another shameful moan.

Then arrives something I don't see coming. There is a knock at the door that is hesitant at first. I barely hear this over the straining sound from my own throat. The knock picks up and the voice that slips through the crack under the door is an all too familiar one. Slow and curious, Harry Potter asks, "Malfoy?" His voice slices through my quivering mind like a knife and, dripping sweat, I look up, staring bewildered at the large door. It looks now as if it is towering ahead of me, peering in like an intruder. I see myself as if through a fisheye lens. The throbbing sensation in the core of my head convinces me that in due time my head could completely roll off my shoulders. "Malfoy, I know you're in there."

I manage, despite myself, to say through clenched teeth, "G-go _away_, P-P-Potter." What I don't hear is the sound of retreating footsteps. Instead I hear the odd sound of scuffing against the stone floor. He is pacing for a moment, I can tell. Without a doubt, he makes a round at the exterior of my room and heads back towards the door. I don't say anything when he knocks again; the boiling pressure in my head tightens and I feel my eyes back in my head. Whatever's going on is far beyond me, too far beyond me. Wiggling on the ground, I hear Potter outside mutter something, but his urgent voice is muffled and it just barely makes it to my ears.

He sighs and I hear the bang and he pounds his fist against the large door. I haven't locked it, but as I've so quickly learned, it locks on impact. If he'd wanted to, he could mutter the spell to open it whenever he'd so desired. Instead, he wastes the time to ask for permission, he knows I will not give him, "open the door, Malfoy. I need to have a word." He stands and waits for an answer I cannot give. My throat runs dry and I arch my back involuntarily. I can almost see him; can almost see Voldemort's shadow standing over me throughout all the pain. In the back of my mind, he laughs as he cries out the Unforgivable Curse.

The bedroom whizzes around me. As if I am on a tire swing, it tilts and rocks as it circles tirelessly around me. I spit back at him, "leave-- me-- _alone!" _I hear him as he mutters the spell and the door clicks open. For a moment, he stands behind him and then I hear him draw in an anxious breath. I aim to kick the door back shut in his slimy face, but I miss as my stomach churns violently and I curl up tight. Through blurred vision, I see Harry's slow moving feet enter the room from under the dress skirts of my bed. He pauses in the middle of my room, no doubt looking for me. And when he doesn't find me, he calls out, "Malfoy?" My eyes force themselves shut and when I open them, Harry has begun his search. "Malfoy! Stop playing around!"

I wish I was only playing. Holding my breath, I hope he doesn't spot me behind the bed. His legs stay rooted to the ground and, eying the his shadow cast on the wall, I can tell that his wand is threateningly outstretched. Unwillingly, my lungs give way and I gasp feverishly for air; I watch his shadow spin around. His feet make their way hastily in my direction and I shout, "Get out of my room." It proves to be too late; Harry is standing over me, his wand held outward. For a moment he stares down at me astounded, as if he'd stumbled upon something he'd been warned against looking for. He manages not to say a word and he keeps his wand pointed straight at me. I glare up at him, perspiration running down my entire face. With a slight twitch, I pant back up at him, "I said: 'Go-- away'!" Harry doesn't move, he doesn't move a muscle. He stares for a moment longer and then tilts his head to the side, backing away slightly.

He says with an urgent whisper, "what's going on? Who's here?" Spinning around, he raises his wand to an invisible intruder, bellowing, "Where are you?" He pants breathlessly avoiding my eyes intentionally, "_Come out here!" _No one, of course, reveals themselves. It is only him and me alone, and I cringe on the floor as I watch his blatant stupidity.

I inform him with a broken voice, "there-- isn't--- _anyone." _Dumbfounded, Harry lowers his wand and turns back towards me. Something flickers behind his heavy glasses and he takes to a sympathetic kneel. Despite this, there is undoubtedly suspicion in his eyes. He drops his wand on the ground, however places it strategically close enough to him. His unsure hand nears my shoulder and for a moment I almost think he is going to lower it. He simply lets it flop back to the ground and continues to remain clueless. "Leave!" I croak upward to him. "L-Leave me--"

Harry interrupts, as if expecting no nonsense, "What the hell is going on?" His brings his hands forward and slips his fingers under each of my arms. But I don't want his help; before he can try to help me to my feet, I push him away, and he reels back angry and offended. But the stabbing intensifies and I hurdle forward, my fingers clutching the fabric of my shirt in a tight, wet ball. There is a pool of saliva collecting ruthlessly at the floor underneath my cheek. Harry yelps and jumps back slightly. Regaining himself, he pulls his hands forward and grabs his wand frighteningly. And then, as if by some sort of miracle, the pain digresses. The burning sensation in my entire body almost practically retaliates and my posture on the floor slackens. I blink curiously, the tingle of quick numbness creeping up my entire body. Harry, as it so seems, is just as perplexed as I am. He nears forward and says shakily, "M-Malfoy?"

I don't answer him back. Instead I let my fingers fall apart; the print of sweating hands on my shirt remains truly present. On the floor a bubbly string of unmistakable spit connects my mouth to the ground, and I wipe it away hastily, embarrassed. One more time I try, "didn't I _tell you--"_ but he whisks me away tiredly. I pull myself barely together and slide my back against the side of the bed trying not to look horrified. With unsteady hands, I push the blond hair out of my eyes and slick it back to its normal tidy position. "Alright, if you must know... I'm not really sure myself."

Harry looks perplexed, even more so if it had been utterly possible. "You don't know what's going on with you?" He says anxiously and then shakes his head left and right, "you mean to tell me that you've just had a-- a _fit_ on the floor of your bedroom and you are 'not really sure' yourself?'"

I say, annoyed, "didn't I just say that?"

"Yeah," Harry says and he rubs his forearm up and down, "I guess." I take instantly to my forehead, wiping it with the sleeve of my button up. When I realize that the faded Dark Mark is still showing, I greedily yank the sleeve all the way down to my wrist and press my head back against the bedside. What's left of the pain doesn't exactly subside, but it shrinks slowly. At the core of my head, the little banging still persists. Harry has moved and I hear his feet move across the ground. Even with my eyes pressed shut, I know he'd begun his pacing again. He scuffs around the room, pretending to examine every little thing before inhaling uselessly.

Opening my eyes, I snap, "What do you want?"

At this, Harry begins a vague stammer. He says, "I just w-wanted to see if you were... er--" this is harder than he'd expected and I raise my eyes at his nonsense. "Last night-- last night I acted on impulse. Believe it or not, I've been trying to mellow down. Whatever you did, you're obviously here on your accord to try and improve."

Jeeringly, I respond back, "I am _not_ here on my own accord. If I had a choice I wouldn't _be _here at all."

Blinking, Harry starts slowly, "so then, you haven't changed?"

I pick myself up carefully, using the edge of the bed for support. Once I am at a steady stance, I jab back, "what are you on about?"

Harry, his words are jumbled, as if he'd only just figured something out. Once he'd ceased his mumbling, he says back at me hastily, "the killings. All those people. You don't regret a minute of it then, do you?" His face is dripping with sweat and he stares back at me, his green eyes still and serious. His shoulders heave up and down with quick and sudden breath and his eyes swing at me, shaking back and forth with disbelief.

I shake my head from one side to another. "How many times do I have to tell you, _Potter?_" I cannot help the bitterness; it is a tone I've come so accustomed to, especially with one Harry Potter. Despite my reassurance, Harry's face flickers.

He says with a hardy laugh, "and I thought _I _was the mad one."

He nears me with a harsh advancement. When we are so close that our noses almost meet, I say breathlessly, "you _are _the mad one."

Through clenched teeth, Harry bellows, "don't you get it, you ignorant prat? Ashby's in there working his ass off for you and you don't even want to attempt to improve! You're no better than you were all those years ago."

Once again my blood begins to boil. My veins pump nitric acid. My heart is almost battery powered. "Don't _tell_ me what Ashby's trying to do. You've got your head so far up his ass to notice--"

Harry's face is blood red. His cheeks flush scarlet. "---to notice that _you_ can't be trusted."

I tell him through a rack of clenched teeth of my own, "there's something funny going on with Ashby, I'm telling you. Something's not right."

But Harry's face doesn't even flicker. He says with a new burst of laughter, "oh, is that so, Malfoy? This-- this, coming from _you? You_, who fought alongside of Voldemort up until the very end? Up until you knew you were going to surely loose? Last minute switch of sides, my arse! To _hell _with you." Something twitches at the corner of his mouth and I know that I am feeling the same anger that bubbles inside of him. We match each other equally, faces red and flustered. "Yeah, to _hell _with you." I feel the tightening in both of my fists, feel it before I can find the time to prevent it. My eye twitches; my throat runs dry; something in front of my eyes flashes and everything in the room darkens. And my reels his hand back. It happens while he's still talking, while his mouth is still running. Bitter and furious, my fist swings forward. Before he has time to react, my balled fist comes in contact the front of his face, square in between the bridge of his stupid glasses. Instantly, Harry stumbles back and his hands fly up to his newly crooked nose. It is now pouring blood and his eyes whip up. Without wasting a moment, he hurdles himself back at me and I dive backward, tripping over the side of my bed. Fierce and fast, his hands grab hold of my collar and he pushes me towards the side of the wall, panting heavily.

The sound of his fist clashing with my face is the only noise that comes to my ears. He smashes into the side of my cheek and I cough up spit. However, I am back on him quickly; my fingers dig into his arms as I whisk him over, prompting him up against the wall and grabbing him by the collar. He raises yet another fist and I knock it feverishly away. His other arm swings aside and knocks into the bridge of my nose. I stumble backwards and then, despite myself, collide to the ground over my incapable feet. Harry's hands find his wand and he points it threateningly back at me. He looks as if he is about to cry as he shouts, "I should kill you like you did them."

I bellow coarsely back at him, "Do it, then, Potter! Quit standing there and _do it." _However, he fails to move. His arm twitches and then he lowers it. For a long moment he stares back at me, locking his eyes back into mine. He is wondering if I am serious; wondering whether or not I truly desire death. "What are you waiting for?"

He shakes his massive head. The gash across his face bleeds viciously. "You're not worth it." He says bitterly, "I know what you are now and you deserve a fate worse than death." And maybe I do. maybe I don't, but he doesn't stay to give it to me. He storms from the room and makes a hustle towards his own bedroom.

I remain sitting, legs sprawled out in front of me, solely supported by my own unsteady arms. My heart beats like a drum, the blood in my head rushing. I am fuming as I sit and I can feel the surge of angry wash over me. It is strong and beating; I am so furious that I can't see straight. However, I don't get a chance to pick myself up. From the sky comes Ashby's beckoning voice, loud and unmistakable. He says, "I need each and every one of you in my office, at once." And then clicks off. I'm not going, I refuse to go. And as I sit on the floor with my hands holding me up, I hear the footsteps belonging to Potter as he stumbles down the stairs, along with his friends.

Everything at once emits itself forward to me: the dark view of Ashby's office, the feeling of my body being dragged across the emerald grass. Flashing before my eyes, I am once again being raised up onto the long couch. My memory is selective, and the things I remember are haunting and odd. Something about it isn't right; something about it seems rather strange. He'd known, he'd known about Potter. He shouldn't have known, how could he have possibly known? And then my eyes catch my reflection in the glass of the window. Maybe there isn't anything wrong, maybe I truly am, as Potter had so stated, mad. Flashes of the previous night come to me without greeting. They pop in and out and bother my buzzing mind. Once again I am alone, left in the room.

Just me and my memories.

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**Vonne: **No preview. Sorry. :(

REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW. :)


	18. Recreational Purposes

**Vonne: **Thanks for all the reviews on the last chapter. Somehow I'm up by very, very much. So, sorry if it felt like it took a while for this one to get up. Anyways, thank you for all the compliments on the last chapter. I love hearing from you all, as always and I'm glad you're enjoying reading this as much as I am writing this. Actually, I got reviews on the last chapter, as well as on the previous chapters.

Oh, and I'd like to inform you all that I have decided to pen another fiction. Please check it out; I would appreciate very much all of your feedback. It is a Dramione fanfiction and I know you all will like it. But, hey, even if you don't I'd love to hear your thoughts. You can access it with the following adress:

.net/s/5353053/1/Radio

Please check it out, I really would love for it to be as well looked at as this one is. ;)

SO, I'm going to respond back to everyone that asked a question. Check to see if your questions are answered below- you might find your name there. Anyways, thanks again for all the reviews. As always, I really, really appreciate all of them.

**Reidluver: **I am so excited that you're anxious to see the end of this! I can't wait to write it, actually. I have something planned so far and I really hope you all like whatever I do have planned. I'm so happy that I've got you hooked! Thanks so much once again!

**These Trees Rule: **Oh! Hopefully you'll keep on reading in order to find out! :)

**Rosebud23: **Thank you! I love hearing all your speculations every time I update. Believe it or not, you give me some great ideas. HA-HA.

**Letty87: **HA-HA. Thanks for the reviews you consistently five me. I love hearing all your compliments. You know, I've always liked that idea, too. Maybe that will happen?

**Dramione1996: **AH-HA yes, Harry truly deserved that penalty.

**Skittering-Roach: **I felt kind of bad for Harry when I was writing this, too, to be honest. He really just wants to do the same thing, as he always has. Of course, sometimes he just doesn't know the correct way to go about doing it. Thanks again for the review! Love it!

**Gloria Marshall: **Yep! Youuuu got it! Good job. I was actually wondering if anyone had figured out the connections between this fiction's chapters and their titles. I'm very proud. Thanks for the review by the way, you're absolutely, one-hundred percent correct.

That's all for now! Please check out my newest fiction. I would appreciate it very much! Thanks once again...now I'll stop bothering you about it. ;)

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen:  
Recreational Purposes **

Ashby sat in the top edge of the semi circle, slightly more secluded from the group. His legs were crossed at the ankle and, under his confident gaze, there was something oddly persistent about his posture. Back straight, fingers tight around the coffee handle, Ashby glanced up over his glasses and eyed the lot of them as they took their seats. Harry moseyed his way over to his seat with a scuff of his feet and tried to pass the trickling blood down the side of his face as an every day normality. Nodding slightly, he greeted Ashby with such a solemn glance that Ashby had to wonder what he'd gotten himself into this time around. The side of Harry's scarlet sweater was a tad bit darker once the landslide of blood had reached it and, seeing that Ashby had taken notice, he took to covering it with his sweaty palm. Ashby had grown quite used to the guilty look that Harry had marked across his face- as it so seemed, the lack of innocence was something Harry had plenty of. Behind him followed Ginny Weasley, who had fixated her eyes on the blood stain herself. She leaned close and then, with a raised brow, shot Harry a curiously suspicious glance. When she'd had her due time staring the nasty injury over, she rose to Harry's stance and mouthed something rather fierce. When she'd sunk into a seat nearest Harry, she asked silently, "is that your blood?"

To which Harry responded with a jittery croak, "some of it, yeah." His eyes flicked about the semi-circle and then fell down to his feet; his pale face flushed bright red. Ginny's face twisted, her perplexed stare resided all too focused on Harry's visage. Her wide eyes set glued on him and she anxiously chewed the bottom of her lip as if trying to put her finger on something. Like their sisters, the Weasley brothers exchanged curious glances before placing their fists in their own individual laps and scuffing their own feet. It was Harry, however, that seemed so prone to dismissing the silence. He clapped his hands together and said with a rushed demeanor, "alright, what's say we get this started then, hm?" His nervous smile flickered as he glanced around the room and then lifted his hand to scratch an imaginary itch on the top of his head.

Hermione laughed with a weak smile, but Ashby could tell she was only trying to support Harry. Her tiny foot inched across the floor and found Ron's. When she placed her shoe on top of his, she kicked it rather swiftly and cleared her throat briskly. She mouthed feverishly, "what's going on?" and Ron sheepishly shrugged, his face reddening with uncertainty. He looked up cautiously and then found Ashby, who had been staring hypnotically at the young lot before him the whole while.

It was with a calm and soothing voice that Ashby said over his steaming cup of coffee, "Ah, and where's Mr. Malfoy?"

Harry gave a slight jump, much to Ginny's utter surprise. When Harry jolted upward in his seat, her hand flew to her heaving chest and she blinked around the room rapidly, sheerly astounded. Once he'd shuffled himself back into a normal sitting position, he gulped, shook his head, and asked shakily, "M-Malfoy?"

Ashby gave a slick nod and continued sipping his morning pick-me-up. However, when no one from the group could give the therapist a satisfactory answer, Ashby only raised his hand and said simply, "no problem," and rose to the door. He leaned through the threshold and bellowed, "Draco Malfoy, third floor, room A." He then nodded as a cluster of two shadows whirled by and turned back to this patients with a bemused smile. He set his coffee on his desk, repositioned his glasses on his pudgy little face and said with a smile, "I needed to talk with you all about something very important. It is essential that Mr. Malfoy join us here tonight, rest assured." Harry looked as if he might have just been socked in the stomach. He shifted for another time in his seat, only freezing when his eyes found Ginny's curious stare. For a moment the group sat in awkward silence: Ashby sipped his drink slowly, his eyes scanning the cluster of them; Harry ignoring Ginny's passing glances; Fred, Ron, and Hermione tried their very best not to look confused. In the strangeness, Ashby cleared his throat and nodded for the third time at the group, as if his presence may somehow lighten the mood.

There was a shuffle of feet down the hall and all eyes glanced up. Someone shouted and took off in a full sprint. Even from their spots in Ashby's secluded office, it was clear that one of them had made a sudden run for it. He, of course, did not manage to get too far; there was one last yell and then Malfoy's voice was very clear. "I'll tell my _father," _he said with a jeering tone, "you'll regret this." But the yells made their way nearer and nearer to the office and after a short while, Draco Malfoy stood in the doorframe. At both of his sides stood two staggering men, their faces stoney and serious. Malfoy said impatiently, "get your filthy hands _off _of me," and jerked his body around violently. Snatching both of his arms free from both of their tight grasps, Malfoy shot Ashby's staff a nasty frown and attempted to fix the crooked black tie that sat like a scarf around his neck.

The two intruders shoved Malfoy utterly forward and gave Ashby two identical glares of annoyance. They turned their backs on Malfoy as well as the others and once Ashby watched the two of them retreat, he said with a smirk, "Nice of you to join us, Mr. Malfoy." He beckoned to the only empty seat across from him and added, "please. Take a seat." Malfoy looked as if he was pondering whether or not to make another attempt to break for it. However, he smoothed back his white-blond hair and strode to the seat in a storm. His hands shoved deep into his black trouser pockets, there was something rather sloppy and defeated about his posture as he obeyed.

With shocked expressions, both Hermione and Ginny watched Draco make his way to his seat. The side of his face was dripping of blood and the front of his white shirt was red as well. It was obvious by the dark stain that he'd attempted to use his black tie as a rag for his wounds, and the random swipe of blood across his cheek bluntly clarified it. He avoided everyone's eyes expect Harry's. Particularly, the two meet each other with stares that were nasty and ready, as if they'd expected the other to leap out of their seat and hurdle a punch at them. Hermione shook her head and leaned forward towards Harry. She whispered slowly, "what the _hell_?"

To which Harry said blankly, whisking her away with a flick of his wrist, "never mind."

Despite this, Ashby's face seemed to lighten with a trace of vague hope. "Right," Ashby said, leaning forward, "let's get down to business, then, shall we?" Awkward and desperate, Harry sighed that of relief and looked up to meet Draco's sharp gaze. Fiery, their gazes suggested yet another fight. Ashby seemed to not notice the two's bloody faces and he said almost too casually, "I'll assume that the group of you still remember the plans I told you about a while ago?" Truthfully, Hermione would have raised her hand to assure him that she did, in fact, remember, however her focus seemed obviously elsewhere. Her eyes moved curiously back and forth between both Harry and Malfoy's bruised and battered appearance and Ashby spoke for her, "I think I said something in the extent of group therapy being very important to all of your success. I had a list of plans that I told you I had coming, if you remember. During these sessions, I informed you, that you would all participate in trust activities, wildnerness retracts, and finally, a recreation activity." When no one from the group responded, he said mildly, "but I've found that the three actually fit together more than I'd originally planned." He looked anxious in his speech and in the light he appeared to be slightly sweating.

George's curious gaze that was locked back and forth between Malfoy and Harry instantly broke. He turned his freckled face away from the two of them and wrinkled his nose. He said slowly, "you mean, you're rushing this? Rushing our progress?"

But Ashby looked instantly taken aback. He shook his head and waved his hands frantically in front of his chest, "no, no," he said quickly, "don't think of it as a rush. I am simply trying something out. I feel that an early group recreation session would provide as the best and most efficient way to kick start progress."

Ron's face flickered, "an early recreation session?" And then he glanced around at the others. Unsure and slow, he said shakily, "I-I'm not sure I understand." He seemed to wait for Hermione to clear up everything, but she only slid her hand on his knee, equally unsure.

Ashby said rather hastily, "beginning tomorrow, the lot of you are going to participate in something commonly known as 'Recreation'. It does not, mind you, involve any recreation of your ordeal in physical forms, but rather the mental aspect of your... trauma. What this means is that I'm going to set the lot of you out into the forests-- without me. Which doesn't mean I won't have my eye on you, of course." He said, glancing around and back up again, "my hopes is that by working together, you all can come to some sort of common ground. There's so many ways that one's feelings can be revealed through this kind of therapy." And with an excited smile, he waited for any of them to take the floor.

Draco, however, did not look so ecstatic. His face was turned downwards, but his eyes had shifted focus. Instead of staring back at Harry, he turned his attention towards Ashby himself. He asked through furiously clenched teeth, "what is this?" he said without blinking, "what are you playing at?"

Ashby's eyes flickered and he said despite Draco's grunt of doubt, "I'm not playing at anything." And then he added back, clapping his palms on his knees, "you all start tomorrow."

Hermione said feverishly, "tomorrow? But-- our stuff? Won't we have to pack?"

And there was a swift moment before Ashby drew his hand to the corner of his office. Even Draco's fierce glare slackened. The group of them followed his fingers to the corner of the room and stared in shock at the oddly common objects he motioned to. George's shoulders slunk and Ron said dazed, "you've got to be kidding me."

Ashby pointed with his fingers to six medium sized bags and said with a casual smile, "well, you best get started then."

* * *

Hermione Granger stuffed her bag carefully, making sure each article of clothes was in a proper and sufficient place. She drew long on the moment it took her to fill the dingy little sack and when she'd found herself seemingly overpacking, she didn't proceed to think much of it. In fact, when the bag was so full of clothes, food, and other seemingly random objects, only then did she stand back and take an admiring look at her hand work. Her hands placed accomplished on her hips, she tilted her head to one side and said under the sound of her own anxious breath, "maybe I should pack another sweater."

Ron looked up from his packing. His bag was a mess compared to Hermione's; shirts and jackets flew out from every angle. Nothing was folded or even, as it seemed, pressed. The wrinkled clothes blended in well with the random array of fruits he'd tossed into the bag at last minute. However, despite the health food, his bag almost overtook itself with random supplies of nourishment. He tilted his head to the same position of Hermione's and mimicked her thoughtful gaze. When the two had stood there long enough, he'd said, "I think you're going to stave to death."

However, Hermione seemed to feel otherwise. Letting her stance sink, she let her eyes fall on Ron's packed bag and she said grumpily, "maybe I should do your packing for you."

The smile on Ron's face doubled and he instantly took leave from the spot on the floor and flopped down to the couch, bringing his hands behind his head. He said, "oh, perfect. Thanks, 'Mione." And something told Harry that it had been Ron's plan all along. Though, Harry didn't seem to have much of a plan for himself. He had thrown in several things and then taken them back out and what he'd finally ended up with was a sack filled with nothing but a pair of blue jeans. The mark across the bridge of his nose from his glasses was bright red across his pale face and, wiping a drop of sweat from his forehead, he considered the whole recreation plans in general.

In Ashby's office he'd thought it seemed a good idea, however he was not sure that he'd only felt that way because Malfoy so obviously felt the opposite. Staring down at this unpacked bag, he wondered if he'd very much agreed. Something about it seemed rather funny, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Ashby had told them that something like this wouldn't happen until he felt that the whole lot of them was truly ready. Did he perhaps feel that all six could efficiently perform in such a task? And, furthermore, where was his proof? A little voice in his head nagged, "_no, quit it, Harry. It's for your best interest and you know it." _And so, Harry began for the third time his repacking.

George's bag, on the other had, was rather questionable. He'd done the same as Harry had, unpacking and repacking, until he finally turned to Hermione and said with a little groan, "'Mione, can you pack my bag, too?" On the couch relaxed, Ron tried to muffle a little giggle. Harry was glad to see George back in his high spirits, joking around again and Hermione turned with fearful anticipation towards George's sack. Without a second look at it she agreed instantly and George said with a happy moan, "gee, thanks, Hermione," and patted her on the back before he turned his own on her and tossed his brother an accomplished grin.

From the other side of the room, Ginny shook her head and only Harry heard her mutter, "rotten gits." But Harry saw the unmistakable amusement behind her tone as she tried to mask her own smile. And Harry mentally slapped himself. Maybe they were ready. Maybe Harry was just not giving himself much of a chance. After all, they were all here, weren't they? Up and ready and trusting. It was only he, Harry, who seemed to await the worst. Or at least, Harry and Malfoy who seemed to expect it. With that Harry turned back to his bag and continued to stuff the necessities inside of it. Malfoy. The consistent footsteps a floor above them told Harry that he was upstairs pacing. Pacing as if to consider the pros and cons of going and not going. As if he'd had a choice. They were going and that was final. And Harry, now feverishly stuffing his bag full, decided that it was the right thing, and that he one hundred precent trusted one Boyce Ashby.

The footsteps clanged on and, looking up from packing Ron's bag, Hermione said curiously, "what's he doing up there?"

Harry only shrugged, his eyes still focused on his own bag, now almost too full. With a casual shrug of his shoulders he muttered non-chalantly, "who knows?"

The circling footsteps continued, of course, and echoed through the living center. Although, only Draco Malfoy could be entirely sure why they had began in the first place. Up the staggering steps and down the hall, they boomed through the locked door that belonged to him. The footsteps mingled with the ramblings that were also his. And then the pacing stopped. From their spots pacing on the floor below, each one of the willing participants gave each other a curious look, shrugged, and then continued to fill their sacks.

* * *

**Vonne:** .net/s/5353053/1/Radio


	19. Mark of the Beast

**Vonne: **I know. Sorry, it truly has been quite a while since my last update. Please forgive me, I had started school and was in desperate need of some sort of break. Anyway, I finally got around to writing this today and I really hope you all enjoy it. I spent a lot of time on what I had, and I know that it doesn't seem like a lot, but I really tried to think this chapter out. I really hope you all are keen on it. But please let me know if you have any thoughts at all considering it all. I really love to hear what you all think and I would greatly, greatly appreciate reviews. Please don't just put this as a favorite or an alert. I appreciate that you are enjoying this, but I'd like some sort of feedback. Believe it or not, it really does keep me motivated to updating.

Oh, and as for the unsigned reviews, I really appreciate them, but I like signed reviews even morreee. ;)

Oh, and if you want me to read and review your story, I'd be happy to return the favor. Just let me know in your review and I would gladly give you my feedback- which is always honest.

Anyways, I was going to do a whole list of review responses, but I wanted to get started on penning down the latest document to my other story. It's a fiction called simply "Radio", and it's a Draco/Hermione relation fanfiction. I would love it if you all checked it out and, for those of you who are following it- I will have it updated very, very soon, possibly even later tonight. So, just give me time and I will update it. Promise.

So, with that being said, here is chapter nineteen. Oh we are so close to the very last chapter- the _ending_, I can feel it!

For those of you who reviewed telling me that it has been long- I agree. It really has. Once again, my apologies. Hopefully this will make it up to you...

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen:  
Mark of the Beast**

Draco was pacing, as if walking around in a consistent circle might create a hole in the ground through which he could escape. Though, once he'd paced for long enough he ceased moving at all, much to the notice of those at the floor underneath him, and flopped uselessly on the ground. Only once he'd slumped down to the stone floor he let out a miserable moan and pounded his fist feverishly on his sweating forehead. He'd given up the bother of being miserable and had changed his attitude to just being downright angry. Furthermore, he'd decided against going at all and his plan was to simply stay put in his bedroom until somebody in particular would take notice. All right, Draco, boy," he'd said to himself when the silence made him nervous, "think."

But thinking seemed futile and undoubtedly useless and, as it so seemed, he wasn't able to even do such a thing in a proper manner. Malfoy had attempted to clear his thoughts and regain focus, but his world was certainly spinning around him. Straight thoughts were definitely a stretch and, realizing this, Draco continued to sit perspiring against the side of his bed. He'd been sitting that way for the last hour, defeated; his unpacked briefcase lay open and ready across from him. But Draco shook his head and said out loud, as if defiantly, "I am absolutely _not _going."

Whoever he was trying to convince, however, wasn't exactly listening. From the mirror across from him, Draco Malfoy's reflection seemed to say back, "of_ course_ you're bloody well not going. You don't know why he wants you there, but there has got to be a reason. You and I both know there is something off about that fellow." The reflection of Draco was not exactly a sight for his own sore eyes. He looked as awful as he'd felt, pale and sweaty and desperate. The Dark Mark, his mark of the beast, stood out in the mirror back at him like a sore thumb and he resisted pulling his sleeve back to over it to conceal it. However, while he looked on with such horror, his reflection's visage seemed almost more desperate, if such a thing were possible.

Draco ignored the reflection, shook his clammy head and whispered to himself bitterly, "what am I doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" Draco Malfoy didn't exactly find it odd that he'd been having a conversation with his mirror's reflection. In fact, it had been happening quite often ever since just before the battle on the Hogwart's grounds. The bickering between the two was typical, and for the most part, they'd seemed to get quite enough of one another. "You're doing _exactly_ what _he _wants you to be doing here! I can't believe you're actually considering packing that bag. You're not going."

"No," Draco said, staring back at the bag. There was one black coat half slumped out of it, but he still insisted, "I'm not."

"Of course you're not!" The mirror image of Draco seemed to roar, as if the idea was absolutely preposterous. "Why the bloody hell _would _you? I have said it once and I'll say it again- there is something not right about this whole thing. Don't look at me that way-- you know that I am right." Absolutely Draco Malfoy knew that his reflection was right. He'd gotten a strange vibe from the therapist ever since he'd started meddling around with his personal memories. He was sure that Ashby was a liar, was one hundred percent positive that he'd shown Potter one of his memories, though which one he wasn't even sure.

But then again, he could very possibly be going mad. Trying to shake the horrible thought from his head, Draco clutched his temples and muttered quietly to himself. It wasn't possible. He was Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy never lost his composure. He was, like his father, stone until the very end. Nothing fazed him, not even his own foolish presumptions. He was not going mad because something like that was utterly impossible. Something like that could never in a million years happen to someone like him. He was cool, calm, and collected. He was not some crazy lunatic who thought that his therapist was certainly out to get him. He knew exactly what he was talking about. Then again, he was the one bickering idly with his own refection.

Once again his reflection reminded him that he would attend no such trip, to which Draco responded with hostile-like aggression with, "shut up or so help me God."

Reflection Draco looked bewildered. He said as he looked through the glass mirror and back at himself, "oh, so we're religious now are we?" But Draco only ignored the voice in his head. He tried to concentrate on bigger and broader things. He attempted to bring his mind to were he was; on the floor of his bedroom, debating with himself on how to carry out his current predicament.

The situation weighted two options, that much was obvious. If he went, he was sure something unthinkable would happen to him. Ashby was forcing him out into the nothingness, with a group of people who all had good reason to despise him. They had their wands and he, because he had surely not forgotten, had nothing whatsoever to defend himself with. Lord knows what Potter and his friends would try to pull. Draco shifted on the floor and unbuttoned the top several buttons of his shirt; it was blazing hot in the room and growing hotter. With a quivering hand, he raised his palm to his head and pushed back his sleek blond hair. No, he definitely wasn't going.

Then again, staying behind could be dangerous. Malfoy's mind buzzed, he'd seen Ashby upset, and even when he had it had been mild anger. With a wince, his eyes found the deep grooves in his forearm where Ashby had dug his long, dirty fingernails. With a hard swallow, he wondered how bad Ashby would take it once he found him hiding out desperately under his sheet covers. His face flushed, "I should go."

_"What?" _The sudden outburst came from Draco's reflection, but he moved only when Draco himself did.

"You heard me," Draco continued, shaking his head. He couldn't believe he was actually saying it, "I said, 'I'm going.'"

"What do you mean 'you're going'?" As Draco stood, so did the reflection, they walked together to their open closet, whisked out a few clothes, and tossed them in the direction of the briefcase. "Do you have any _idea_ what you're talking about right now? Potter and his friends, they're not too chipper with you at the moment, if you don't recall." The voice in Malfoy's head seemed to suggest that he'd expected him to change his mind, only Draco kept packing. There came a little crack in the depth of his reflection's voice. He said almost nervously, "they'll _murder_ you!"

However, Draco could only think of one logical response. He said with as much nerve as his reflection, "Shut up," and folded his belongings in a jittery hurry.

"You don't know what you're doing." Draco blinked, ignoring the voice. The reflection was only his imagination, but he continued to listen as it nagged at him anxiously. The voice came almost desperately, as if pleading, "A-Ashby, you don't know what he's up to. You even said-- you even said you don't trust him. Get it together, old boy, you're thinking _crazy_!" But that wasn't exactly news; he'd been considering _that _fact for quite some time now.

Malfoy once again shook his bitter head. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed a soggy palm to his hot forehead. "Shut up; I can't think with all this noise!" When the chatter did not die down, he demanded back once again, "Let me think." Though once he'd sat in such a way for some time, he looked back up at himself.

Then, a rocky, but uplifting feeling tickled inside of his chest. He froze, as if considering the situation all over again, and then brought his attention back to the front of the mirror. There was a glint of hope in his eyes now and, though it was undoubtedly flicked with desperation, he seemed to dwell in his revelation. Both he and his reflection remained quiet for the moment, as if they had been both waiting for some sort of response.

And then it came, Draco swallowed hard and heavy and then brought himself to what he'd considered to be a steady stand point. He nodded once he'd calmed as many butterflies as he possibly could, and then considered his appearance in front of him. He was a mess, but it was a mess that he had grown quite used to lately. There was determination about him now and he squared his jaw, adjusted his shoulders, and straightened his back; a stance that his father had taught him once. It was supposed to make him look tall and important. He'd told him to stand that way when he'd wanted to let on the appearance of importance and superiority. And, while he hadn't exactly mastered such a position of posture just yet, he seemed to think he was doing a rather OK job at it. Remaining still and collected, he said with a fierce intensity, "I have a plan," and then doubled over as the pain in his side came back once again.

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**Vonne: **Did you all think this was too short? I do. I'm sorry, I meant to write something a lot longer, but I decided that I would try and save all of that for all of the last couple chapters that we actually do have left. Besides, I thought this was quite a good place to end it. But don't be too disappointed (if you truly are), I've included a bit of what I actually do have from chapter twenty. So, here it is, and excerpt from the next upcoming chapter:

**Chapter Twenty:  
Excerpt**

_There was a bit of a chill about the air and shadows seemed to consistently rush by. A cold chill scatted up the spine of Draco Malfoy. He was not, as the others seemed to very much think, oblivious to all of their staring. In fact, it had rather begun to pester him. However, he kept his mouth shut and his eyes focused on the forrest ahead of him. What a grand thing it was. He had never imagined that it would be so massive. Every inch was covered in brush and it was almost impossible to see the sky underneath all the towering trees. They hadn't been walking for too long, but Draco was already wondering how much bigger the place could get and, furthermore, he quite anxiously anticipated its end. _

_Draco held the blindfold that had previously covered his eyes in his wet hand. They were, in fact, stranded and, breaking the silence, Harry spoke to his friends only. He said curiously, "how do you reckon we find our way back to the center?" _

_Better question yet; how would Draco find his way out all together? _

_He strode from the pack and his absence seemed to go absolutely unnoticed. Tension built in his stomach and found its way to his thumping chest. His heart beat with an irregular rhythm, his knuckles white as he tightened his grip on the handlebar. He scanned the forrest for some clue, for someway out of the place altogether. Because there was no going back now, not when he'd gotten himself this far involved. He'd packed his bags and allowed Ashby to send him blindfolded out into the middle of nowhere. Anxiety rushed through his body as he further confirmed what he'd already decided upon. He was going to do it whether or not he succeeded or died trying. He was going to break himself out._


	20. In the Forrest First

**Vonne: **Sorry for the short chapter last time. I am going to try to make this chapter much much long and sadly, that means a lack of review responses. The one review that I did want to address, however, was the question that was along the lines of: "why is Ron credited as one of the main characters? He has only been mentioned." Please remember that this isn't over yet. I could have made this a Harry and Draco centric fiction, but my plans for the final chapter definitely include much of Ron. That being said, if you were expecting Ron throughout the entire fiction, please take note that I was given the choice of Draco and one other character. It wasn't as if I were trying to mislead you. And after 19 chapters without seeing a satisfactory mention of him, maybe this isn't the story for you...

Thank you for your question, though. Next time I'll put a little more thought into things like that.

Anyways, I'm going to publish a little one shot coming up soon. Something about Draco Malfoy and the Slytherins playing a little game of 7 Minutes in Heaven. Let me know what you think of the idea and if you'd be interested in reading it.

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**Chapter Twenty:  
In The Forrest First**

Ashby's beady little eyes resembled that of a rat's, but they sparkled excitedly like bubbling champagne. His massive arms were wrapped around the shoulders of Harry Potter, as if prepping him, and he leaned forward, scanning the outskirts of the forrest before them. "Alright," he said slowly, as if preparing the group for the one significant moment of their lives, "this is it." About them, the sky twirled, once again threatening rain and possibly a storm. Hermione Granger glanced up at it and them nodded, thinking that every single step towards the forrest was just one step towards progress. "If you can do this, you can do absolutely anything."

Ron swallowed hard and he too scanned the backyard of the center. "Don't you think," he asked Ashby, turning to him child-like, "that this is a little soon?" As if the sudden sound of his own voice scared him, he looked around as if instantly startled, "I mean, we don't even know where we are."

However Ashby's face only brightened, "exactly, son!" he said beaming, "_exactly!" _But when the expressions of the lot in front of him did not change, he further elaborated, "do you know where you are in your life right now? I'm sure some of you feel completely lost. This exercise will help you break through that notion of helplessness. Working together, the lot of you can put aside your differences, perhaps. Maybe the first step of moving on isn't forgiveness, but it's certainly a start towards moving forward." At the silence around him, Ashby asked with an anxious smile, "do you not agree?"

There came a chorus of, "I guess," and Ashby's broad shoulders squared.

"Now," he said again and his voice was stoney and flat, "Morty here is going to be blindfolding--"

_"Blindfolding?" _The outburst came from Draco Malfoy, who suddenly felt his throat run dry. He whipped around and his face had drained of color. The blond hair that he'd had usually tucked behind his ears had come loose and hung just about an inch and a half below his earlobes. His cold eyes were fearful and horrified and he looked as if he could simply bolt from the spot impulsively. "You are setting us loose out-- out _there--_ without any idea where we are going?"

Ashby nodded solemnly. "Of course, Mr. Malfoy," he informed the blond, "how else would I conduct the procedure?" Malfoy only gapped and this mouth shut quickly. His shoulders fell with great force and he slowly turned back to the forrest front with a sinking feeling in the pit of his chest.

He muttered, "my _damn_ reflection was right," and Harry shot him a glance mixed with annoyance and pure curiosity.

Although Malfoy wasn't given much of a chance to shake off the weirdness he'd so apparently emitted. Once he took to returning Harry's look, there came the sudden clasp of sweaty palms at the side of Harry's skull and Mort covered the top of Harry's face with a white blindfold. At the sudden sensation of being blind, Harry retreated back and his hands flew to his covered eyes. Mort said nothing, but his own hands rose to bring Harry's back down to his side. Worriedly, before she was too blinded, Ginny interlaced her fingers through those of her boyfriend.

Hermione was next and Ron watched as if helpless next to her. Smiling trustfully under blindfold. "It's alright, Ronald." She held out her own slender hand and Ron took it as he too was covered. But when Mort advanced on Draco, the young Malfoy backed away fearfully.

"Mort," he said, glancing back towards the center, "I'm not sure I really have a good feeling about this..." However, Mort beside him looked oddly transfixed and he didn't answer back. Instead Ashby tilted his head to the side and his eyes seemed to loose all its shine. Malfoy didn't take notice to Ashby; his eyes were locked on the look stamped across Mort's face and his eyes widened. He'd seen that look before; would never forget that look. And although Draco saw the body of Mort in front of him, it was only like a shell standing there in the silent backyard. "Hey," Draco snapped, though his blunt confidence didn't seem to last long. At Mort's stone face, Malfoy's own horrified exterior seemed to make itself more and more present.

Malfoy's head snapped around. "What's wrong with him?" Under his blindfold's shield, Harry whirled around and then, curtly, Ashby's comforting hand settled on the chosen boy's slumping shoulder.

He knew exactly what to say to make Harry relax. "Mr. Malfoy, you are over reacting," he nodded, and at once Harry's shoulders slackened. "Mort is _fine. _You need to be worrying more about yourself, to be quite honest. Isn't that right, Mort?" Mort nodded, but his expression was as blank as a slab of lumpy clay.

And then the therapist's assistant advanced and Malfoy was blinded with the blindfold before he could protest. Ashby's thick hand found its way to Draco's shoulder and he rubbed it as if preparing him for a big game. A chill ran down the core of Malfoy's spine and he thought he could feel himself get ill. However, when he opened his mouth to tell the darkness that he'd needed to be excused, the grip around his shoulders tensed and he was being pushed along.

When he heard the swoosh of grass, he knew that he and the others had been steered to the grass. They walked for a long while, unaware of whether it was Ashby leading them, or Mort. But at the leader's silence, Draco was sure it was Mort. The butterflies in his stomach intensified, and he tried to stand up straight. There was something bubbling his his throat. He wanted desperately to call out to the others, to warn them that he was sure something, _something_ was a miss.

But he kept his mouth shut, unable to do anything about the situation.

And after they'd walked around for a long distance, a loud pop filled the air. The group of them stood, struck, for several minutes and then Draco was the first to whip off his blindfold. Harry's arm reached up to tear his from his own face right after and as the other few followed. Though the moments that passed where only the two of them were unblinded, their eyes caught at they stared back and forth at each other almost threateningly.

There was a bit of a chill about the air and shadows seemed to consistently rush by. A cold chill scatted up the spine of Draco Malfoy. He was not, as the others seemed to very much think, oblivious to all of their staring. In fact, it had rather begun to pester him. However, he kept his mouth shut and his eyes focused on the forrest ahead of him. What a grand thing it was. He had never imagined that it would be so massive. Every inch was covered in brush and it was almost impossible to see the sky underneath all the towering trees. They hadn't been walking for too long, but Draco was already wondering how much bigger the place could get and, furthermore, he quite anxiously anticipated its end.

Draco held the blindfold that had previously covered his eyes in his wet hand. They were, in fact, stranded and, breaking the silence, Harry spoke to his friends only. He said curiously, "how do you reckon we find our way back to the center?"

Better question yet; how would Draco find his way out all together?

He strode from the pack and his absence seemed to go absolutely unnoticed. Tension built in his stomach and found its way to his thumping chest. His heart beat with an irregular rhythm, his knuckles white as he tightened his grip on the handlebar. He scanned the forrest for some clue, for someway out of the place altogether. Because there was no going back now, not when he'd gotten himself this far involved. He'd packed his bags and allowed Ashby to send him blindfolded out into the middle of nowhere. Anxiety rushed through his body as he further confirmed what he'd already decided upon. He was going to do it whether or not he succeeded or died trying. He was going to break himself out.

Ron, however, blinked. He ran a freckled hand through his mane of red hair and said with a shrug, "how long do you think we walked for, first of all?" There was a moment of silence and then Hermione shrugged.

Shaking her head slowly, she shrugged, "I don't remember."

But neither did Malfoy and, his shoulders sinking, he realized that he could only remember the first and the last couple steps. A fit chimed over him and he spun around, feeling through the trees as if they might hold some secret passage out. He heard George as if he were a distance away. The older Weasley muttered to Harry with a slightly annoyed tone of voice, "Malfoy's going crazy. You reckon someone should check him out over there?"

And possibly from their point of view, he had looked insane. Although as he stumbled through the brush, pounding on the trunks of trees, Malfoy spun around and hissed, "I'm not insane, Weasley."

George's response was as sarcastic as ever. Raising an eyebrow, George crossed his arms across his own chest. "Uh-huh."

Malfoy gritted his teeth, "You'll see."

"Alright, we'll see. You will _show_ us, once again. Isn't that right?" Malfoy was unsure who the voice had come from, but he tried bitterly to ignore it. Whoever it was that had said it, called out once again, "Malfoy, get back over here. The last thing we need is to loose someone-- yes, even _you--_ out here."

Malfoy obliged, a fact that was even a shock to himself. He said to the group, "don't you see what's going on here? How can you not _see_ it?" At once he rounded on Harry Potter, his thin finger out in a point towards the chosen boy's chest. "You especially. How can you not see it? With all the meddling you and your friends do..."

But Harry's eye twitched upwards and he looked on at the blond as if he had just completely snapped. Harry's knuckles gripped the top of his wand, though he didn't raise it, and Malfoy, noticing Harry's threatening gesture, threw his hands up in the air. He laughed that of a mental institution patient and tilted his head back. However, when his face fell back to an anterior position, he looked as if he'd been just socked in the face "Oh, you've _got_ to be kidding me."

"Malfoy, I am completely serious. You need to calm down," Harry said, stepping forward towards Malfoy, "Ashby said---"

"Ashby said? _Ashby said?_" Once again Draco's laugh was maniacal. Hermione's eyes found Ron's, who stood utterly confused. Ginny took a slight step towards George and Harry, who stood in front of the group, looked as if he were ready to protect whoever he may have to. When Malfoy finally stopped laughing, he crossed his arms across his chest and murmured, "you want me to calm down, is that right? Well, Potter, you're going to have to hex me."

Harry shrugged and he heard himself say, "hasn't stopped me before." However, Harry only turned around and then glanced back at Hermione, who's face was twisted absently. "Did you bring the bags?" He asked her, and Hermione managed to nod.

"Bags?" Ron said, turning away from the spectacle that Malfoy had so currently caused. When the group had turned away from him, Malfoy let his shoulders sink, oddly disheartened towards being ignored. "What bags?" Ron's voice asked again.

"_Sleeping_ bags, Ronald." Ginny hissed, with a shake of her head. She watched as Hermione dug them from her hefty bag. Graciously, she laid each of the sleeping bags out and Ginny continued matter-of-factly, "you can't expect to find your way back within the night. Obviously Ashby or Mort preformed some sort of mind erasing charm."

Draco snorted sarcastically, "oh, _temporary_, of course." Though he once again went utterly ignored.

"And we're not going to look around?" The protest came form both Ron and his brother.

Hermione shook her head. As she did so, her bushy brown hair fell dramatically over one of her shoulders, "No, we're going to get some sleep." Ron and George gave in rather quickly, and all of them had sunk low into their sleeping bags. All expect Malfoy, who stood gaping as the others turned so willingly on their backs.

At once he took off and behind him he heard Hermione mutter, "where's Malfoy going? Shouldn't someone go get him? Harry?"

And Harry whispered back, "good. Let him go, it's better for the lot of us that way."

But Malfoy wasn't leaving. He'd be back before night fell when he was positive that the remaining had fallen asleep. As he thundered off into the dark forrest, his hands balling in tight balls, he couldn't help but notice the panic in his chest. Darkness overtook the sky, blackness faded in.

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**Vonne: **REVIEW


	21. Familiar Faces

**Vonne: **Once again, I'm sad to say I'm not doing review responses because of all the space I want to save for the chapter. That being said, I do want to address the issue that talley67 and about three other suspiciously "anonymous" (meaning unsigned) reviewers have with the lack of Ron in this fiction. First of all, let me tell you that I literally thought that your first review on it was a joke. It wasn't even until I got reviews from all your other fake accounts (because the IP address, deny it until your heart's content) that I realized that you weren't. I stick to what I said and I have absolutely no problem with how I said it. It was not in the least bit rude and if you do find it to be so than you are either extremely sensitive or you have nothing better to do than over analyze a simple statement. I chose not to address this subject anymore. Please, review this story all you want with complaints on my comments. I find it rather odd that they are ALL anonymous reviews made in the same couple seconds of talley67's account. Funny. Because I am a mature person who does not even see the issue at hand here, my last comment on this is: PLEASE review this story with all your complaints- it really helps with the review requirement I have. The more the better, really! ;)

Oh, I lied.. and one more thing...  
To the "anonymous" reviewer calling me a review whore- comments like that only make you look like an idiot. Get a better vocabulary. What are you? Like, twelve?

Again, this is my last comment on the subject- or lack there of. I still fail to see the point in why a grown woman would sit there and COMPLAIN about the direction I choose to go with something that is mine. Done and over with. SO, to all you that just wanted the new chapter- I'm so sorry! I'm not going to continue a fight on the internet of all places. I don't have the time of day for something so stupid. So thanks guys! Hope you enjoy what is to be Chapter Twenty-One.

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**Chapter Twenty-One:  
Familiar Faces**

He was bent double.

Pooling over the front of a shirt that once might have been considered nice was a hefty amount of sweat, and across his clammy forehead slid his shaky arm. He'd been running for as long as he could remember and his throat was dry and broken. In the middle of the brushy forest, Draco Malfoy wad holding onto his shivering knees. As far as he could see it, as this point there was no way out- or, at least, none that he could see from his stand point. However, even once he'd come to terms with this, he hadn't exactly been able to find his way _back_, either. The soreness in the depths of his throat ached back at him as he breathed in. It was a broken and pathetic breath and once he'd taken it, he may as well have collapsed over on his front. Instead he settled into the trunk of a sturdy tree and clutched his chest.

If only he'd had his wand, or even his broom... But, of course, that was impossible- Ashby had made quite sure of that. Despite himself, all he wanted was to get himself back to Hermione's little camp sight. Undoubtedly they were all fast asleep by now, laying with their eyes closed and their minds shut off. He should have waited; should have waited until he could nab one of their wands. Since it had been a constant habit of his lately, he cursed his stupidity and scanned the open clearing around him. Fear flooded throughout his entire torso and he considered what could possibly be lurking around the depths of the emerald forest. Above him, the moon seemed to invite each of them out. It's gleamingly pale exterior floated on, blissful in Draco's misery.

Malfoy let out a single groan, his solitude slipping in on him and it truly was the first time he had actually loathed it. His foot inched forward and with pitiful posture he slumped through the trees, heading the way he'd presumed he had actually came in from. But his stalking along the forest floor was useless. He had slunk through the trees long enough before realizing that his efforts had brought him nowhere. "Dammit!" He hissed to the trees that crowded around him and with a swift kick he slammed his feet into the lower limb of the nearest tree.

And then he lost his balance. Clumsiness was not a trait that Draco had been used to, but as he fall to the ground on his back, he thought to himself, "well, _figures_." The collision was a rather nasty one and once he felt the wind whoosh out of his chest, he made the absolute decision not to even attempt to get up. Face up on the floor, he stared up at the stars that twinkled up ahead of him. The wind was chilly and it yelled with every passing moment. Upon the ground, he pressed his eyes shut and resumed his staring behind his closed eyelids. The gesture of simply lying there, it made him nervous. Vulnerability was not something he had been accustomed to, and the notion of it was daunting to say the least. His head rushed and through his throbbing temples, he braced himself for the cold.

The thought of possibly lying there the entire night was not as bad the thought of him getting himself more lost. It came again to him as annoying sensation that spurred in his throbbing temples and spread down through his neck. It burned in his chest and the first person he blamed was Ashby. Ashby, the sneaky devil. Ashby, who thought he could fool everyone with his fibs. But he couldn't fool Draco Malfoy, not now. Of course, this gust of determination had come one painful stab too late. He breathed quickly, as if each would be his last. And out loud he said at last with a choked tone, "son of a bitch..."

Malfoy shut his eyes. He could, he thought, sit there for as long as he wanted. He could sit there and let himself rot. As he considered the circumstances he figured, eh, it was a better way to go than at the hands of one Ashby Irwin. At once there came a prickling sensation through the core of his head and flicks of past memories flashed in front of his eyes. It was happening again, and Draco knew that somehow Ashby was doing it again- watching him somehow. He inhaled a broken breath and pressed his eyes shut. Breathing spastically, he said as if trying to fight it, "no, no, no, no, _no."_

But it came quicker than he thought it to ever come. At the opening of his eyes, he was standing in the middle of Hogwarts castle, the area secluded besides the presence of his dark aunt. Bellatrix Lestrange paced around the room silently, a smile upon her face. She was beautiful, despite the creul atmosphere that circled around her. She leaned forward and blew Draco down a lovely kiss; she planted her palm on the side of his cold cheek and then patted it rhythmically. This was it. Even Draco knew while watching it. What had truly happened during the war after Fred Weasley had been killed, and considering it all, he felt absolutely pathetic.

Bellatrix lifted her palm from her nephew's cheek and leaned forward. Her voice was soothing in his ear and she said silently, "this is it, Draco. This is the end." She threw her hands in the air, an excitedly joyful look stamped across her face. "Our family name will be forever remembered! This is the start of a new beginning, Draco. I can _taste _it." She sent a long and still tongue running across the Dark Mark that was planted on her pale forearm. "The Dark Lord will be forever proud!" She strode forward and wrapped her arms around Draco's shoulders. "Come with me. Let's finish this."

But all Draco could manage to say was, "I'll meet you there later."

"Later?" At once Bellatrix was truly shocked. She slipped her hands out from around her shoulders and looked as if she could slap him across the face. "What do you mean '_later'_?"

"I mean... I have got some other business to attend to." Draco said back instantly and Bellatrix's face once again lifted.

"Ah," she said anxiously and her eyelid fell back down into a wink. She slid one foot over the other as she made her way back to the door of the room. There was a boom from outside and something exploded; amongst the chaos, someone screamed. "Don't be long," she said and she lifted a finger in his direction. However, it was not long before she had vanished from the room and Draco was left on the floor alone, his eyes stinging as they remained open in the utter darkness.

From around him came the voice of the two people he knew to be his parent's. "_Draco! Draco!_" But their son didn't move; at least, didn't move in hopes of finding them. He pulled himself up and started slowly for the door. His feet moved in the way a bride's would down her isle. They strode towards the door with the dramatic step-pause-step that so reminded him of death. And he was about to see it- about to see everything that he had caused...

He made his way willingly to the chaos.

But before he could make himself relive it, he pulled his eyelids open. Blinking, he stared at the forest that he found himself back in. Ashby's attack was gone, but the threat was not over. However, something new came to pester Malfoy as he lay there breathing mercilessly.

The footsteps behind him came first as a slow paced tip toe, but then instantly took off like a sprint. Draco didn't move and his mind when blank. With all his might he tried to hold his breath. However, he surely felt stupid when the intruder spoke and he knew that there wasn't anything to truly fear. Over the malicious wind, Ron Weasley's frantic voice said, "what the hell?" And maybe he didn't exactly _fear_ Ron, but he sure as hell did wish him gone. He spoke again over the noise and Malfoy found his persistence to be rather annoying. "Malfoy, what the _hell_?"

He looked stupid when he said back, "is there a problem, Weasel-bee?"

In the darkness, Ron was only a redheaded outline in the black night. His pale and freckled face emulated as he bent down towards him, one of his eyebrows raised with sheer confusion. He said with a shrug of his shoulders, "Uh... I assume so." On his back, Malfoy only blinked up, and his lack of proactivity made Ron lunge forward. Gripping his knees, he continued, "get up."

At once, Malfoy's response came as a sneer, "don't tell _me_ what to do. I'm here on my own accord, if you haven't noticed. I don't need to be--"

"Can you even get up?"

Malfoy chuckled. However, his amusement did not seem to convince Ron, who tossed his head back and let out an unimpressed moan. On the ground, nonetheless, the blond continued to protest. "Can I get up?" His chest bobbed up and down and as it did so, Malfoy tried to fix his face so it didn't cringe in pain. "Can I get up? What kind of stupid question is _that?"_

Ron bent forward and said with a whisper, "you can't get up, can you?"

For a moment, Draco seemed to be considering telling the truth. When he'd decided to do so, his voice came out as if he'd tried to sound strong, despite his lack of strength. "Not even a little." The youngest of the male Weasleys did not waste any time. Sighing, he lowered himself down to Malfoy's level and shoved his thin hands underneath the blond's arms. What he'd managed to do was lift him about half way off of the brush. Oy-- hey, hey-- don't touch me! Ouch!" They had ended up in quite a mess and sitting there with Malfoy's forehead perched on Ron's chest, the two froze stumped for a moment or two before Malfoy cleared his throat. "You don't have to _injure_ me, Weasley," he said with his face burried unwillingly at Ron's torso. "Contrary to popular belief, I still do value my _life." _

Ron snorted and resisted pushing the boy back down to his previous state on the floor. "Fine!" He spat, aggravation boiling about him, "if you don't want my help then do it yourself."

Draco shrugged. Against Ron's body, he felt the motion of Draco's shoulders moving up and back down again. "Well, if you feel comfortable leaving me here," he said as a threat, "than fine. I mean, if you can live with that load on your shoulders."

Once again Ron sighed and he pulled out his wand from the pocket of his trousers. He said with great annoyance, "you little _prat," _and shoved him away before letting his wand do the work for him. He waved it and Malfoy rose up from the floor with full force. When he came to a proper stance, he looked around triumphantly. Although his grateful expression surely fell when his eyes found Ron Weasley once again. "You're very welcome," Ron said sarcastically. When he'd caught his breath, he said bitterly, "now let's get back to the---" he stopped abrubtly and his eyes followed Draco, who stumbled blindly through the darkness, his arms stretched out in front of him. "Okay, what_ are _you doing?"

Draco didn't turn around to face Ron, but he responded back through clenched teeth, "none of your business. But, if you absolutely must know, I'm finding my way out. Unlike the lot of you, I can tell that there is something funny going on around here--"

"Oh, yeah!" Ron called back, "there you go again. You know, Ashby says you're _crazy." _

"Oh, he would say that." Ron took off after Draco, his fingers tight around his thin little wand. He said something to the extent of going back, of finding the others, but Malfoy tossed his worried aside with a flick of his wrist. "Go back if you want to. I'm not going to be one of Ashby's little puppets." But then it came to him again. The rush in his head hit him heavily and he let out an angry groan before sending around kick at the trunk of yet another helpless tree. He said meekly, "the sooner I get out of here, the better."

"Get out of here?" Ron continued to follow Draco, but he laughed amusedly as he drifted on after him. He tossed his hands up in the air and ran a sweaty hand through his red hair. "You? Get out of here? Out of _all_ of us here, _you_ need to be here the most! You're freaking insane-- you, you," Ron stumbled over his speech. He couldn't help but laugh over each and every frustrated word. "You're a Death Eater! Your little friends killed my brother!" His voice broke, but when he found the strength to start back up again, his tone boomed through the air easily, "Doesn't that mean anything to you? Harry told me what he saw. And, you know what I think? I think once you get out of here, you and your family deserve to be locked up with all their other Death Eater friends."

At once Draco rounded around on Ron. He ignored the pain that stabbed him in all directions. At the sight of the advancing Draco, Ron reeled backwards and his arm shot up instinctively. With his wand pointed out at Draco's heaving chest, he stammered with an attempt to retaliate. "I don't know what Potter saw, but it's a lie! You are all falling for Ashby's little game, aren't you? I would think that after the whole _war_ fiasco that you lot would be a hell of a lot smarter than you are!" And then it was his turn to laugh. He shut his eyes as it burst through his heavy chest and when he opened them, they gleamed with a foreign amount of compassion that was unfamiliar to Ron Weasley. He blinked back when Malfoy said, "I'm not proud of my past. I haven't been for two years-- long before you even knew."

Draco said once again, "if you had any smarts left in you, you'd realize that _something_ is wrong here. I am not crazy- despite what _Ashby_ has to say about it." He spat the name of the therapist with a great fit of detest. At the forceful tone in his voice, Ron stepped back and tilted his head back at the Malfoy boy.

"What are you saying?" He said finally, after several silent minutes had gone by.

"What I'm _saying_ is this therapy center is _rigged. _I don't know who Ashby is, but I know something's not right." But as the creeping pain boiled back through his body, Draco pressed his eyes shut. He grunted, "and I know for certain that I'm not one of his favorites."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked again. His eyes looked Malfoy up and down.

"I mean that unless we get ourselves out of here before Ashby finds out, we're in serious danger."

The bottom of Ron's eye twitched. Once again he scanned Malfoy up and down and he said back with uncertainty, "what is wrong with you?"

Draco straightened his posture and yanked down the sleeves of his white shirt. He shook his head and scanned the exterior of the brush. His blood boiling and his temples throbbing, he said back "Never mind that. We need to get out of here before it's too late."

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**Vonne: **:)

Sorry it was short, yet again. I am so short on time that I try to pen down as much as I can before attending to other businesses. I hope you enjoyed what was a short chapter, nonetheless. Sorry, sorry, sorry!


	22. The Weasel and the Serpent

**Vonne:** I got so many compliments from my last chapter! I just wanted to let you know how thankful I am that you are all so interested in what I am writing. Oh, and a very special thanks to Kannilia- your reviews really made my day. Thanks so much.

Anyway, as usual, I'm going to skip the review responses, but if you have a pressing question to ask me, I'll make sure to post it. My bad if I've forgotten anyone this time around, I just wanted to upload this quickly.

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**Chapter Twenty-Two:  
The Weasel and the Serpent **

Ron had been following the glowing figure of Draco Malfoy for quite sometime before he really considered actually complaining about their current state of being utterly and severely lost. They had seen nothing but the darkness for what had seemed like hours and Ron had been having quite a difficult time keeping up with Malfoy himself. Thankfully, the captivatingly white view of the back of the boy's blond head had kept him quite on track. Being lost, it was a lot more of a reenactment than Ron had wanted; every dark and ominous path behind a towering cluster of trees reminded him of stalking through the dark forests once he'd left Harry and Hermione all those months ago...

He wouldn't, he decided, let that happen again, no matter how much Malfoy wanted to free himself. In order to prevent himself from getting too far behind, Ron stepped up his pace and came so close to the Malfoy that their heels almost collided with one another. Draco spun around. There was annoyance on his face, but it was mixed with an unmistakable amount of fear and desperation. Although, when he managed to say to Ron, "can you keep your distance, Weasley? You're practically breathing down the back of my neck," Ron wasn't too convinced that Malfoy had lost his initial habit of being a complete prat.

Obligingly Ron backed off, but he decided, for good measure, that this might be a significant time to voice any of his complaints. He said over the rushing sound of wind, "Malfoy, we need to find our way back! Hermione and the others... if you think something's wrong we've got to warn them too." But Malfoy's response was only that of a little grunt. Ron took this to mean one of two things; either that he was absolutely not about to turn around and try to find them, or in fact it was a moan of disappointment. Maybe Draco was of course considering going to fetch the others. Acting on this hopefully choice only, Ron called out to Malfoy again, "why are you helping us?"

Ahead of him, Draco threw up his twig-like arms. He had rolled his sleeves back down, a constant habit he seemed to be picking up, and the view of the Dark Mark was completely invisible. "You all had wands," Malfoy noted and then he poked his head around the corner, scanned the brush, and chose not to wander down that particular path. "Ashby," he said with a major tint of disgust, "took mine if you haven't noticed." As a matter of fact, Ron hadn't quite noticed. And he felt with an odd sting a hint of sudden suspicion towards their therapist.

"Well," he said, despite his uneasy feelings, "you _were_ going a little insane. Maybe he deemed it necessary to."

Draco spun around on his heels. With fierce and cold eyes, he locked his entire focus onto Ron. Square jawed and tense, he said through clenched teeth, "Weasley, do you ever even _think_ before you talk? Ever?" Ron blinked and then Malfoy straightened his posture. He seemed to weigh the possibility of actually having a civilized conversation and then he seemed to finally relax himself. Curious, Ron watched as Malfoy said back in a tone that was far less tense, but still undoubtedly frustrated, "don't you think that Ashby would strip me of my wand if what I've been trying to tell you is actually the truth? Don't you think that would make _sense?" _

It was a strange feeling, staring back at the boy who had made his entire school life hell with the feeling of utter superiority. However, there was something about Malfoy that made Ron strive to believe him. Maybe it was Hermione who once said that forgiveness was a very honorable thing to do. Although forgiving Malfoy wasn't what Ron currently felt he had to do. Stand there in the darkness, Ron wondered if he may actually believe that something was in fact going on. Something a little bit past his understanding now. Ron's shoulders sank and when he finally spoke out, it was in a voice that sounded anything but accepting. Slowly, he whispered to Malfoy who was now extremely close to him, "I'm not following you..."

At once Malfoy's face utterly fell. He wore an expression of sheer disbelief and looked as if he could smack the redhead silly. However, he stood gaping, seemingly considering whether or not to lay something of an insult back on him. But Ron could tell and before Malfoy could insult his intelligence, he added, "I mean, what are you saying is going on? You think Ashby's some.. some crazy lunatic and... and what? That you've changed?"

Malfoy spoke with his hands. They were musician's hands, but when they moved it was not with strokes of grace, but rather of harsh chops and quick movement. "Here's what I expect you to believe," he instructed bitterly, "something strange is going on here and Ashby's behind it. Ashby's turning you all against me and he's doing so right under your noses. But I don't know why and I don't want to stay to figure it out." Ron stood as still as possible, but the bottom of his eye gave a little twitch and Draco's face drained of the little color is actually had left. "Don't you _see_ what's happening to me?" He asked the Weasley with a cracked voice. "I hurt all over and I don't know why! I have this-- this, unforgivable _pain_ in my side and it's started ever since I got here. Ashby..." his hands motioned to his head and his thin finger hovered right before his temples, "Ashby's messing with me."

Backing away ever so slightly, Ron said with a slight stutter, "Ashby is messing with your... head?" At once, Malfoy nodded vigorously. The greasy, perspiring bits of his white blond hair hung low in front of his forehead. But Ron looked even further doubtful. He slumped back and shifted his weight to his opposite foot.

Malfoy winced. He was no longer frustrated, but simply befuddled. He wrinkled his pale forehead and shook his throbbing skull. His shoulders slumped down low and, wincing back at Ron through the nighttime, he asked his honestly, "can't you tell that I'm in pain?"

Ron crossed his arms across his chest and analyzed the ghost-like visage that now belonged to Draco. All things considered, Malfoy did look as if he were suffering, but there was something left flooding through Ron's mind and those feelings were of sheer hatred and loathing. This boy had been related to the woman who had killed his older brother, had even supported it up until the very end. In his throat, a knot tightened and he tried anxiously not to think of Fred...

The hoarse yelp of Malfoy made Ron jump up. He looked desperate and oddly innocent. However, he brushed his sweaty hands up to his forehead and smoothed back his sweaty mess of hair. His eyes widened and he said scratchily, "_what do you want from me?" _

Ron shrugged and he said out loud, "I don't know." And it was the truth, truly he didn't know. However, he couldn't help the burning feeling in his throat. The more the stood there staring Malfoy down bitterly, the more the stinging in his eyes intensified. It was the pressure feeling of being sore, but the anxious feeling of his entire chest collapsing. He wanted to sock Malfoy in the face at the moment, but at the same time, he was just only keeping himself from promptly breaking down. They two stood like that in the silence for quite some time, Ron looking as if he were about to cry, and Malfoy looking as if he could pass out right then and there. There was something about the two that mirrored each other in the same sense, but also distinguished them heavily. After the long moment had passed them by, Ron's strength regrettably failed him.

His eyes gave a slight twinkle and then, finally, a small tear dripped down the side of his freckled face. At the appearance of it he hastily lifted his quivering arm and slashed it away. His ears had turned a bright shade of red at his instant strike of embarrassment and he shook his head doubtfully. Sincerely, Malfoy's shaky stance slackened at he shook his head, too, but managed to stride forward. He asked with a stroke of earnestness, "what?" and once again Ron's head swayed back and forth.

"Nothing," he choked and then pushed his way past Malfoy with much more force than he'd actually intended to. "Nothing. Let's get back and get out of here." But Malfoy didn't move. He stood blinking at the trees and then took his place to stalk behind Ron with fast feet. "Once we get back," Ron said in a more level toned voice than before, "Ashby can get this all figured out."

"_Ashby?" _Malfoy lunged forward and just missed grabbing Ron by the back of his shoulders. Stumbling on behind him, he asked helplessly, "what-- what is wrong with you? Did you not hear a single word that I just said?"

Finally Ron whirled himself around. His face was now entirely red and streaked with a massive amount of water that Malfoy could tell was not sweat. His voice was unnecessarily loud and strained and he bellowed back at Malfoy, "What's wrong with _you?_ Do you even have _any_ idea what your family has done? You just think you can hurt and then it is all over with? Well, you may be in a little pain right now, but my pain-- my family's pain-- that will last forever and it's all because of _you."_ Ron's hands flew up in the air and he staggered on forward so that he came so close to Draco, that to two could feel each other's breath on their cold faces. "How do you not get that?"

Something sunk visibly in Draco's body. His entire posture seemed to deflate. His eyes seemed to loose focus as Ron's searched him feverishly. Ron's chest heaved up and down and, on the contrary, Draco's felt his entire torso relentlessly shrink. Of course, Ron's accusations weren't novel to Malfoy, in fact, they were accusations that Draco had accused himself of every single day. Of course, coming from someone else, Malfoy had never prepared himself to actually have these thoughts really confirmed. "I- I..." There was not much he could think to say. In fact, he couldn't think of a single thing possible. Standing there stupidly stuttering, Malfoy felt admittedly embarrassed.

Ron's head bobbed up and down and quickly wiping his face free of any remaining tears, he said curtly, "yeah," he said shaking, "that's what I thought."

Once again Ron took off, leaving Malfoy standing there rooted and dumbstruck. There was a horrible ache in the pit of his stomach and his mind fought for something to yell back in defense, however nothing brilliant came to him. His blankness marked the betraying feeling of shame and regret, a sensation he had been feeling for quite sometime since the beginning of his sixth year at Hogwarts. His chest fell, felt the bowling ball thud of something hard drop harshly inside his chest. Stupidity wasn't the word for it. Anxiety wasn't the word for it. It was wordless and impossible to describe. It was pounding and annoying and despite it all it would not leave Draco Malfoy alone.

There was a crash and Malfoy seemed to shatter. And then it hit him before he knew it. The instant pressure in the pit of his side made him once again double over and he watched Ron walk away without turning back. Malfoy gasped up for air desperately and then he crumbled forward in segments- first it was his knees and then it was his palms. His head hovered just before the ground and his blond hair grazed the forest floor sickly. Whatever had possessed him to fall forward, he knew it had to do with Ashby.

"Hey!" Draco called and the notion was loud to him, but Ron didn't seem to take any notice. "Hey! Weasley!" And when Ron still did not turn around, Draco once again called out, "Ron!"

The sound of his first name seemed to trigger a response and lazily Ron turned around once again. Ron's eyes searched the black surroundings for a long time and when he finally found Malfoy on the floor, his own torso sunk. "Oy!" He called from his spot across the brush, "oy! What's going on over there?"

When Malfoy didn't answer back, Ron took to rushing forward towards him. He stood over him unconvinced at first and then knelt down, tilting his head to further analyze Malfoy's current state. Once again Draco felt it. There was numbness and burning about his entire body all at the same time. His head throbbing and finally felt as if it were about to roll directly off of his shoulders. Perspiring, Malfoy's white shirt was dripping sweat and his sweaty hands tried to support him on the floor of the forest.

The bitter throbbing filled his entire head. And he was sinking back into an unmistakable fit. He could feel it coming, feel the darkness move in before him and Ron's voice seemed so close, yet so very far away. Whatever sound he did manage to hear, it came to him in a chorus multiple voices all on top of one another. He wanted to tell Ron to shut up, but at the same time, he didn't want him to leave him there alone.

The rest came like a constant thunder of malicious drums.

And the wind rushing around him seemed to scream with every passing second.

Something darkened about his vision and he saw nothing but the blackness and the transfixing view of Ron's red hair.

And, Oh God, he missed Snape...

Malfoy watched Ron back away horrified and when he felt the strike in his head, he said through clenched teeth, "yeah, believe me now?"


	23. He's Got High Hopes

**Vonne:** I know this update didn't take very long, but I was really pleased with the reviews that I got on the last chapter. Anyway, this is drawing to a close soon.

Please check out my other fanfictions, too. They're feeling a bit unnoticed. I promise if you if you enjoy this one, you'll like my others. ;)

Thanks so very much!

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**Chapter Twenty-Three:  
He's Got High Hopes**

If time could slow, it did so in the eyes of Ron Weasley.

What he couldn't believe was happening, was in fact truly happening. The blond Malfoy underneath him, had gone tense and he was choking on what appeared to be invisible air. He had just said it-- his blunt 'i-told-you-so' and then bent over before Ron, incapable. Ron's heart was pounding fast and heavy and he could hear it fluttering nervously in the core of his chest. Ron's eyes followed Malfoy as he cough up nothing, watched him wide-eyed as he tried to take in the resistant air. Ron had gone stone cold. He gaped down at Malfoy, but nothing significant seemed to come to him. He was bent double, clutching the white collar of Malfoy's nice dress shirt, which was now soaked bitterly in sweat. His cold eyes had lost all their chilliness and they rolled back ever so slowly. "Oy, oy!" Ron called down to Malfoy hoarsely, "hey!" The tenseness in his throat ached and he watched on, quite helplessly.

Malfoy's arms slackened and the only thing keeping him upright was Ron's grip around his shirt. His head lolled to one side and from the corner of his mouth dripped a long string of transparent saliva trolled down the side of his pale face. With every gasp Ron prepared for it to be Malfoy's last and he shook the boy yet again, panicked. "Malfoy!" he screamed with instant frustration, "Malfoy, what's going on?" But there came no response. Draco Malfoy remained rather loose and as Ron rattled him, he only seemed more and more distant.

"Oh shit," Ron was saying, rather because there was nothing else he could think to say. "Oh, _shit._" His mind ran in circles, his face dripped with sparkling sweat. Around the dark forest, the emerald trees loomed in invasively. What Ron shouted at the limp body of Draco was that of a tiny plea, "please!" At once Malfoy's body gave a tiny jolt of its own. Malfoy's chest rose with a little spasm and his eyes burst open. The trail of spit that ran out from the corner of his mouth doubled in size and, blatantly caught by surprise, Ron reeled back and pushed Malfoy from him with a little shriek.

Quickly, Malfoy's own hands flew to his neck. He flopped forward on the brush as Ron released him and was greeted with a mouthful of twigs and leaves. He gargled out a massive amount of spit and as he struggled to raise himself up, he squeezed his eyes shut as the pounding ache in his head pressed on. Hovering in and out of consciousness, his eyes did not adjust to the darkness, but on the ground, he could undoubtedly hear the horrified voice of Ron above him. "Malfoy!" Ron called back down, terrified. "_Malfoy?" _

Malfoy's response was breathless and curt. He grabbed his side and grunted in pain. With his eyes squeezed shut, he said between coarse breaths, "can't--- feel--- anything."

Ron leaned forward, his face inches from Draco's nose. He breathed in and out and, horrified, he shook his head. He seemed to wave away Draco's previous complaint and addressed a new worry of his own. Swallowing the lump in his throat with worry, he asked quickly, "okay, but uhm-- can you breathe?"

Coughing, Draco's eyes swelled with tears. He bent forward and hugged his waist. Shaking, he pressed his forehead to the ground and nodded against the floor. Back up in Ron's direction, he mumbled, "barely."

"I-i-is this Ashby, too?" Ron found himself saying, despite all his possible thoughts otherwise. And at the question, Draco's head whipped up from the ground and he stared back up at Ron as if he'd expected something far more different. Ron, however, was looking down at Draco's face, scratched and bruised and now fairly blue. Draco's eyes widened and it seemed as if his body dropped. He sincerely had not expected Ron to believe him so easily, but it so seemed that he'd thought wrong. Ron, however, was not paying Draco's expression much attention. He was, in fact, focused on the whole picture. With every passing moment, he seemed to expect Malfoy to stop breathing all together. "Is Ashby doing this, too?"

Then Draco nodded heavily, as if he were a little child, begging to go outside. "I'm _sure_ of it!" he said and at once gave yet another timid cry. Doubling back over, Draco felt a rather large and bothersome lump in his otherwise dry throat.

"And this is why you've been-- been on the ground... been absent for sessions?"

"_Of course!" _Malfoy snapped, and then instantly regretted it. Here Ron was trying to understand and he couldn't think of anything better to do than be coy. However, he truly did wish their conference was on better circumstances. He regained himself a little and tried to compose himself and he was rather successful at making his voice less rage-filled. As his stomach churched unbearably, Malfoy leaned forward once again with a nod and gave him a slightly apologetic stare. Weakly, he nodded sincerely.

But Ron didn't seem to note Draco's earnest behavior. He slumped backwards as he put together the pieces of the puzzle and ran a hand through his hair once again. Blinking back around, Ron asked breathlessly, "then... why the night sessions?"

Draco's laugh was dry and rather unnecessary, "only reason to further torture me," he said and Ron did not return the chuckle. Instead his eye widened and his mouth dropped as his body lowered.

And because he couldn't think of anything much better to say out loud, Ron shook his head, repeating himself rashly, "oh, no. Oh, _shit! Oh shit." Then, after he'd finished panicking, he leaned forward, "you mean, our therapist is trying to __kill_ you?" But because it sure seemed that way, Draco shrugged pitifully and Ron gave yet another whimper.

"Weasley," Draco said through clenched teeth, "since I have the time to ask... how are you even here?"

At first Ron's face contorted at the question and then, with a stutter, he said shrugging, "I dunno. I just... noticed you have gone off too long. I wasn't really expecting to find you out here, to be honest. But, Hermione said we all have to stick together." Ron's mouth did not raise in any sort of smile. Instead, he spoke back with honest intentions, but a solemn tone. "I kind of agree."

Draco's eyes flashed. Although, what he said back was not so bitter as it was questioning. With both aggravation and sadness, Draco asked Ron, "but I thought I killed Fred?"

Ron shook his head and then after a long moment had gone by, he said, "to be honest, mate," he said with his eyes fixated on the ground, "you couldn't have stopped it if you want it to."

Malfoy blinked. He swallowed a massive amount of spit and then, honestly, he said, "I wanted to, you know." And then his eyes went cross, "not many people know that."

There was a hefty amount of awkwardness, but the two weren't exactly looking directly at each other, rather than at the forest around them. However, Ron nodded and then, as if to stifle the strange moment, he coughed. "Let's get back to Harry and the others, okay?" He said, "we need to all get out of here."

But Draco did not get the change to respond back. Once again his body ached and he doubled back over with a whimper that surely matched Ron's previous one. Ron shook his head, which now swelled with a headache of his own. His quivering finger pointed out towards Draco and he stumbled over his own words stupidly as his eyes once again bulged, "t-t-there's s-something _wrong_ with you!" On the forest floor, Malfoy gave a little frustrated grunt. Unsuccessfully, Malfoy tried to pick himself up form the ground, but slipped forward and let out a second miserable groan. Above him, Ron mumbled to himself in disbelief. He shook his head and said in an unevenly nervous voice, "what the hell is going on?"

However, Draco's attention was drawn to something else. The skin wrapped around his forearm was burning and with shaking hands, he reached desperately for it. Something invisible stabbed him in the side and he writhed back, his fingers missing his sleeve by a long shot.

Although, someone else seemed to get the hint. Ron came forward slowly, at first, and then hurriedly. His own hands reached over towards Malfoy's sleeve and with such aggression that the fabric ripped with his desperate force. The Dark Mark was there, printed darkly. At the sight of it, Ron would have usually grown angry, but something about it this time caught his attention. Even in the darkness, the red skin was visible. Malfoy's entire forearm was in shambles; the skin was truly aggravated and sore with annoyance. Around the lines of the mocking skull, blood seethed from the surface. Both Ron and Draco, at the eerie sight of it, cried out and there was something utterly insane about the both of them at that moment.

Ron's eyes bulged out of his head and he crawled backwards, crab-like and gaping. In this quick motion he darted away from Draco and let his back hit the trunk of the nearest tree. At the sudden collision, his mouth opened and shut, his face drained of any color it had left. Draco, of course, had done the same. At the sight of his profusely bleeding arm, he nearly jumped a mile. With the little breaths he could manage, he screamed horsely and his blond hair flopped limply in front of his perspiring forehead. He thrust his arm away from himself and his other hand flew to his heaving chest. Scrambling himself backwards, his own back collided with a tree trunk of his own and his eyes widened.

From his personal side of the forest, Ron called out, "what's wrong with that thing?"

Draco's eyes were focused down on his bleeding arm. The scarlet blood drooled down his slender wrist and completely concealed the Mark itself. His skin was no longer pale white, but had turned completely red with each oozing amount of blood. The throbbing sensation in his head was coming back to him again and he felt himself once again going in and out of consciousness. He pleaded with himself simply. "Stay awake," he told himself, "stay awake!" His breath was short and quick and as he tried to catch the air again, he said, "I don't know! Ashby's never made this happen before. T-t-this has never happened before!"

Ron saw the horror that marked Draco's pale white face. His eye quivered with his own uncertainty. In Draco's torso, the pain struck him sharply. It came again quick and painful, and Draco's entire body gave a little shake before he slumped forward and curled himself up into a little ball. "You have a _wand_," he said back at Ron, rage mixing in with his obvious pain, "don't you think now would be a good time to use it?"

But Ron's own panic had taken over. He swallowed the reoccurring lump in his throat and responded with extreme fright, "and d-do what with it? I don't _know_ anything that would help you out. I don't even know what the _hell_ is wrong with you! What do you expect me to do with this?"

Before Draco could answer, Ron saw his entire body convulse. Draco was a glowing white figure in the darkness and as he felt himself curl over, Draco didn't even bother to hide his discomfort. The blood from his forearm pooled over onto the leaf coated ground and he let himself ache, terrified. This time his voice was a desperate scream. "I don't know, Ron!" He said with a dry cry, "but do _something!" _

Ron watched Malfoy writhe in pain on the forest floor. He was pouring sweet himself and, in fact, his own breath was short and rushed. A short while ago, Ron would have loved to see Draco Malfoy in such pain. In fact, he'd expected something bittersweet, but he didn't feel anything like that. In fact, there was no amount of happiness in watching Draco's ordeal. Because, despite himself, he found that he was slightly believing Draco all together. The broken sound that instantly filled his ears was the oncoming sound of Draco's own sobbing. The glowing and ghostly figure that was Malfoy was wiggling around the floor, his arms wrapped around his waist tightly. His long and slender legs kicked across the ground anxiously. Over the rushing wind, Draco's harsh breath cut across the air like a razor blade.

So, out of fear, out of pure pity and absolute of mercy, Ron rose his thin wand. His next word was jumbled and, shutting his eyes, he pointed his wand forward and clasped a clammy palm over his own petrified face. "_Stupify!" _On the ground Draco gave a little cry and then his body fell. From his spot against the tree, Ron pushed himself up. His run forward was a stumble over his own feet and when he finally brought himself to Draco's side, he'd tripped over himself and landed on the ground next to him on his knees.

The twigs on the ground ripped his trousers, and through the open holes, his knees had started to bleed. But his attention was not on his stinging wounds. Shivering, he whisked Draco around and stared back down at him. Malfoy looked truly awful. There was something extremely pitiful about the boy, looking at him now. Ron hovered over him, watching the last twitches that contorted Draco's face. There was dried spit down the side of Malfoy's cheek and something curious made Ron want to wipe it away in order to leave Malfoy any possible dignity he had left.

If even _that_ was possible.

He turned once again to Malfoy's profusely bleeding arm and lifted it up to the moonlight carefully. It was both red and blue, lined with a mixture of bruises and scratches. Ron shook his head and his eyes scanned the darkness that was the black forest. His shoulders sunk lower with lost hope and he shut his eyes, his throat scratchy with aggravation. He took his wand out again and muttered the spell under his breath. Almost instantly, Draco's body rose by it's ankles and hovered up in the sky by Ron's slumped shoulders.

And even though at that moment he could have cried, he turned to the upside down face of Draco and muttered back threateningly, "I'm going to murder you when you wake up for leaving me to find my way out of this myself." With that Ron slugged off into the distance, his hopes, not so high.


	24. Forgive, Sounds Good

**Vonne:** I know this update came very quickly and I hope it came as an enjoyable surprise to all of you. I'm planning on ending this very soon- probably there is about six more chapters left for this to go, seeing as thirty is a good and solid enough number. Anyways, see if you can guess what all the chaos is! I'd love to see your theories. Next chapter, I'm planning on the most of it to be given away! Thanks for all the reviews.

Oh, and there was a question from **Eos Evanggelys** about translating this fiction into Spanish. I'd be flattered if you did so! I don't speak on ounce of Spanish, but I think the idea is a lovely one and I'd be honored. Go ahead and do all the translating you want. Thanks a lot! :)

Anyway, sorry if I'm forgetting to address any other questions! Let me know, and I'd be happy to clear anything up!

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**Chapter Twenty-Four  
Forgive, Sounds Good**

All things considered, Ron had walked quite some time with Draco suspended in the air upside down next to him. The blood had, nonetheless, drained almost completely down to the bottom of his face before Ron had even considered shifting him upright. In fact, he had only just taken notice when Malfoy gave a little groan and Ron was forced to finally look back at the hovering Malfoy, whose face was an intense shade of bright scarlet. Now, as Ron led Malfoy through the darkness of the forest, the blond boy's head slumped forward and the drool that still leaked out of the corner of his mouth hit the ground like little the time being, Ron once again started his stride forward, cursing Malfoy's unconscious body once again for leaving him to the forest alone.

Malfoy hovering above him, he could have been mistaken for a flying angel. If only this mistake were true. Beside the white glow the boy emulated from his pale skin and his white-blond hair, there was nothing angelic about Malfoy in the first place. Nothing, at least, that Ron could put his finger on. Draco's previous apology had been pestering around him for quite some time, however, his main focus had been their current predicament. They were, nonetheless, lost in the darkness-- or, at least, _he_ was lost. Malfoy, unconscious and drooling dumbly, wouldn't have known the difference in his current state of mind.

And through it all, Ron was sure Draco was so far gone that he was less help to him now than he ever was. Indeed, the most help he could offer was to remain still as he floated suspended just above Ron's shoulder. And after all, if ignorance was bliss, Draco the Angel Malfoy was indeed truly blissful.

"You know," he told the dangling thing that was Draco Malfoy with crossed eyes, "you couldn't have made this any more difficult. Hermione says it can always get worse, you know." At this, Ron gave a tiny chuckle and he thrust back his head in the midsts of his own amusement. "I'd like to see what she'd have to say after _this."_ In fact, the only thing Ron could think could possibly make the situation worse would be rain and, just by the looks of it, a downpour seemed to be indeed a possible threat. Casually, as if Draco Malfoy wasn't floating above the ground completely out of it, Ron muttered back up to his flying figure, "you owe me one." In the air, Draco did nothing but remain unconscious and blank faced.

Their reconciliation, if it could have even been called that, had been something Ron didn't want to necessarily think about. Howeve, ignoring it didn't seem truly possible. Draco Malfoy had been, of course, the solitary soul that had made Ron and his friend's school life a misery-- not to mention the hefty amount of misery he'd caused towards the end of the year. But even all those years ago, just as their fifth year had come to an end, he couldn't ignore what Harry had told them. Harry, he had been so sure of it when he'd said that there was no way possible that Draco would have killed Dumbledore. He'd always insisted that Malfoy was surely lowering his wand. But Ron Weasley had never been much of a believer in second chances until the chance came his way after walking out on Hermione and Harry in the forest just last year. And maybe, just maybe, everyone deserved one. Or, in Malfoy's case, a couple hundred.

And what did he expect exactly? A warm heart-felt hug? Surely, not. Ron was not that type of person and neither was Draco. In fact, Ron was surprised with the apology that Draco did manage to give him and, the more he thought about it, the more content he had become with it. It was a nice gesture, whether or not it was inevitable, but he wondered how many years in the making it had been, and possibly how overdue it was. Out loud, Ron once again turned to Draco Malfoy and said stiffly, "you want me to accept your apology? You'd better start begging." But the threat was rather empty. In fact, moments after he'd said it, he found himself shaking his head and muttering a rather soft apology of his own.

Hermione had always told him he was rather hard headed and maybe her accusation had been rather true. Then again, didn't such a touchy subject deserve someone so stubborn? Couldn't something like this need time to truly heal the wounds? Or, was it the opposite? Could it be that maybe such a subject needed a touch of maturity? With a fierce shake of his head, Ron tried to shake the thought out ungratefully however, the more he felt the persisting need to glance over at Malfoy, the more he felt the desire to let all his anger go.

Fighting with himself, Ron searched the forest grounds and muttered under his breath. Of course, if only Malfoy were awake something like finding their way out would be a lot more easy. Of course, there was the possibility that Ron didn't truly want Malfoy to wake up; something like that would completely add a severe amount of awkwardness. However, at this point, Ron wasn't completely sure what he'd wanted from Draco Malfoy entirely. Forgiveness sounded too simple, too cowardly. But then again, did he really want to be angry forever? Such a weight was quite a heavy one to carry around.

Something throbbing inside his chest made Ron want to lean over and sock the white shadow of Malfoy square in the face, a release that he truly felt would be long overdue. The urge tickled his fists and he balled his hand up tightly. He stopped as he walked along the leaf covered ground, turned to Draco, and looked him in his pale face. Even though Malfoy's eyes were swollen shut, Ron considered the ample amount of damage he could do to the rest of his face. Such an opportunity was long overdue, and Ron waited for what seemed like the right time to do it. Because, in all honesty, forgiveness didn't seem sufficient without something so rash.

Ron's hand lifted up furiously and in his mind Ron heard Draco's astoundingly proper voice mock, "_you'd never know the Weasleys were purebloods, the way they act.."_ and Ron's blood boiled. All the times he'd been so horrible and for no reason, Ron wanted to sock him right between the eyes- hard. More than ever, Ron wanted to feel something that let him know that they were even. And without thinking he did it. It was, however, not such a great punch. The collision of Ron's fist with the front of Draco's face met at Malfoy's chin and instantly Malfoy's teeth clamped down on his tongue. Blood poured out of Malfoy's already red mouth and, despite himself, Ron reeled back, slightly shocked at the act he'd just done. Wasn't he supposed to feel better now? Wasn't he supposed to feel _something, _anything at all_?_

But nothing. Admittedly, Ron felt nothing; it was as if he hadn't even done it. As he stared back at the fresh blood pouring down Malfoy's front, he felt his stomach drop and his knees went truly weak. In a rough flop, Ron sunk to the ground and covered his freckled face in his hands. Punching Malfoy didn't bring Fred back, didn't make everything right in the world again. Seeing Malfoy's once flawless face as the wreckage it now was, it didn't give Ron any amount of satisfaction. The uplifting and free feeling that Ron had been itching to feel was not coming to him. In fact, he felt even worse. What was _wrong_ with him? Revenge, as it turned out, wasn't so sweet.

He tried to tell the hovering Malfoy in a broken voice, "you deserved it, you know," but something inside him made him take back his words. Malfoy had apologized- had done all he could. But what had Malfoy done truly besides be the school bully? After their fifth year of Hogwarts, the downward spiral that was Draco Malfoy was had prevented even the most nasty from him. Poisoning Katie Bell had been a foolish act, something Draco could have surely done successfully if he'd only tried. But Ron was sure it was something Draco didn't even want then. And it was after the sinking realization that Draco Malfoy wasn't exactly the horrible person he'd always been though of as, did Ron even regret the punch itself. "Shit!" He mumbled back to Draco, "sorry."

He said as he turned his face back up to Malfoy, "come on, lets find our way back to the others." It was the hundredth time he'd said it, but this time he truly couldn't think of anything he'd like to do more. Once again he brought himself onto his feet, wiped his runny nose with the sleeve of his maroon sweater, and led Malfoy along the clustered brush. Forgiveness was a strange thing, but Ron rather admired the strange feeling it brought to him. "Draco Malfoy," Ron said with a great amount of sincerity, "I forgive you."

It wasn't as if Draco could possibly answer him in his unconscious state, but someone else did. From the trees came a long and drawn out laugh. It was a low and dry laugh and then the owner of it revealed himself. Mort Irwin stood in the shadows behind the trees and he strode forward cautiously. He tilted his head to one side and as he opened his mouth, Ron was sure he heard something distant in his drawling tone, "how touching."

On the ground Ron's head whipped up and he stumbled backwards, causing Malfoy to wobbling in the air, too. "Mr. Irwin?" Ron shouted, obviously alarmed at the therapist's assistant's sudden arrival. "Oh, thank God! W-we've been lost for _hours._" Then he turned his face up to Draco's swaying figure. The blood poured more freely out of the dry mouth that belonged to Draco. "There's something wrong with Malfoy and... a-and I think Ashby has something to do with it. Mr. Irwin, we've got to find Harry and the others and get out of here as soon as possible!" However, Ron's predicament didn't seem to shock Mort in the slightest. Rather, he seemed unaffected by it. Mort said nothing and as he strode forward, Ron saw that there was a curious blankness to the man's face that reminded him of the Imperious Curse.

Although Ron did not know the man very well, there was something obviously different. Mort's slightly boney face was far more sunken than Ron had remembered it and there was a dripping wetness that took over his mess of light brown hair. His nose was running and there was unquestionably nothing behind his rather large eyes. In his pinstripe suit, Mort's thin body wavered and Ron wished that the man had been a stronger willed person in his lifetime. "Mort, can you hear me? Mort? Are you there? If you're in there..."

But the man seemed to no longer able to hear Ron, or anything else around the brush for that matter. He did, however, motion to the floating Malfoy with the tip of his chin and as he did so, his eyes flashed vibrantly.

"Mr. Irwin?" Ron gasped as he struggled to find his wand on the floor. Staring at the blank slate that was Mort, Ron raised one of his eyebrows. He looked the man up and down and wondered whether or not the man was even truly there in the first place. Startled, Ron stammered, "Mr. Irwin, are you in there?" But something told Ron that there was nothing left of Mort Irwin at that moment. The revelation horrified him and, stumbling back, Ron's fingers found his wand and he thrust it out in front of him, though he couldn't keep his arm from shaking. "Mr. Irwin, if you're in there, I need you to stay away from me." But when the shell of Mort didn't respond, Ron yelled back, "do you hear me? _Leave me alone!" _

Then, Ron noticed something new. Mort's eyes were not fixated on him at all. Instead, they had found the hovering body of Draco and his eyes almost burned back into him. Ron's chest fell and, over the rushing wind, he said, "Malfoy was right." Mort's eyes shifted at the sound of Ron's voice and he took another stride forward. However, Ron was too quick for the tall man. Jumping forward, Ron swiveled himself in front of Malfoy and spread his free arm out as if it were a shield. He said in a stern voice, "don't touch him!"

Ignoring Ron's warning, Mort strode forward once again. With a frightened cry, Ron called out, "oy! Stay back!" But something was long gone in Mort, something way too far from revival. The man strode forward again with slow steps and in the moonlight Ron could see his face in full light. There was a long and fresh scratch that ran down half of his face. There was a light blue glossiness in his left eye and, in the other, his whole eye was red, as if a blood vessel had been popped inside it. Mort's own mouth match Malfoy's; from the corner of it, a long trail of blood dripped fast. Ron's eye twitched. Scared, Ron asked breathlessly, "what did he do to you?"

Though Ron didn't really even expect an answer and he didn't get one. Mort's hands flew towards his dark coat and he pulled out his own wand. He proved too quick for Ron; in a booming voice, Mort shouted, "_Expelliarmus!" _Ron's wand bolted out from his fingers and was sent whizzing out into the nothingness. Ron let out a cry and when Mort only stayed standing still, he felt his heart sink. He wanted to cry and run all at once, but the body of Malfoy kept him rooted to the spot. Instead, he spread both his arms out, protecting the body with his entire front. In a stammer that sounded more cowardly than brave, Ron called out, "s-stay b-back! I'm warning you!"

The burning desire to shake Malfoy awake tingled at the corner of Ron's pestering ear. Instead, he stayed put, blocking Malfoy with his body like a shield. In the depths of his mind, Ron prayed for something-- anything-- to wake Malfoy up, but his strong desire did nothing to improve the boy's current miserable state. The wind whisked around him and Ron's red hair flew around his forehead. Mort's coat flapped around his torso and he looked slightly more determined behind his blank eyes.

Once again Mort shouted, "MOVE!" But Ron did nothing of the sort. He kept himself rooted to the spot, no matter how hard he shook. "I said," Mort cried out, "move!"

"Mr. Irwin," Ron pleaded with the shell of the man, "snap out of it." However, Ron didn't do much to help the man. Instead, Mort whirled his wand and Draco's body fell to the ground with a loud and thundering thud. In fact, Ron wouldn't have been surprised if the fall had broken Malfoy's arm. However, the moment that Malfoy hit the earth, Ron jolted backwards and fell down to him. "Don't touch him!" He said back to Mort, who had already begun to make his way over to them. "You heard me stay back!" But when Mort raised his wand again, Malfoy's body gave another involuntary twitch and it slid across the ground. "No!" Ron cried when the white boy slipped from his grip. Across the ground, Malfoy was dragged by something invisible and towards Mort he was led. Without another word, Mort picked up Malfoy by his feet and scanned him up and down, from his scuffed black shoes, to his bloody face.

Quickly Ron sprinted forward, forgetting all about his lost wand. He had to save Malfoy, had to get him out of here. After all, he had just forgiven him and now, after all that, he couldn't let himself leave Malfoy to Ashby. But Mort had something else in mind; he sent Ron flying back as he shook his wand and muttered something inaudible under his breath. When Ron hit the ground, he gasped up for air and the wind had been genuinely knocked out of him. On the brush he stared up at the twinkling stars and tried to pull himself to his feet, a feat that seemed entirely impossible. But only feet away from him, Mort's hand rose and he grabbed hold of Malfoy under the chin. Still undoubtedly unconscious, Draco's limp body was lifted from the ground and left dangling above it for quite some time.

Then Mort allowed Draco's feet to touch the ground and at the sudden contact, Malfoy flopped forward and his forehead hit Mort's chest. With that, Mort grabbed hold of the blond boy by his sweaty back and looked back at Ron, wincing in pain on the forest floor. "NO!" Ron cried and he saw the scene in slow motion as it happened. Mort let Malfoy flop carelessly against him and he smoothed away his hair as if analyzing the damage done to his face. The tall and lanky assistant said nothing, but his eyes glistened a pale white in the moonlight. Ron's face drained of color and he pulled himself to the ground, hoping beyond everything that he could reach Draco in time. But the wind changed and there was a pop. Before Ron could pick himself up from the ground, the two had completely vanished, leaving Ron with nothing but the darkness.

* * *

**Vonne: **Thanks for all the reviews I've got so far! Make me happy and continue to do so! :)


	25. Where Does the Good Go

**Vonne: **I know the chapters haven't been long, but hopefully this will be long enough- I really tried to make it at least 5,000 words compared to the last couple chapters that have been somewhere around 3,000. :) Once again, I'm going to get directly to the chapter rather than answer reviews, even though I am so happy to be getting so many. It's not that I don't want to address them, but I've been so busy and even now I have a lingering project that I have to do and haven't. But, anyway, I did decide to continue to update fast chapters! I wrote this one a while ago, but some of it got lost and I had to spend forever editing this. I really hope you all find it easy to understand. I tried to write this clearly so that there wouldn't be any confusion, but it is completely understandable if there does happen to be. I'll be doing review responses next chapter to clear up any confusion that any of you might have, so don't hesitate to ask questions.

Well, there is just about five more chapters after this, so here is chapter twenty five!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Five:  
Where Does the Good Go**

Ron Weasley never considered taking track- not that he'd ever had to consider such a sport in his life- but as he ran fast paced along the messy forest brush it was questionable that maybe, just maybe, he would do quite well at it. Sprinting through the forest in the dark, Ron's breathing was loud and uneasy. With each long and lanky stride forward he heard his own panting. Around him he ducked and dodged, just in case Mort or Ashby had been indeed hiding in the nothingness. He could think of nothing but finding the others, locating Malfoy, and returning them all home. In fact, the thoughts came to his mind like a rhythmic melody with the thumping of his heart. Find Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and George. _Thump, thump, thump._ Save Malfoy. _Thump, thump._ Be safe, be safe, be safe. _Thump._

Something slithered through the branches and Ron stumbled. Even this slight misstep couldn't break his determined thoughts. The stagger lasted only momentarily and when he managed to pull himself to a steady and balanced run, he continued to repeat the thoughts over and over in his head. His goal seemed inevitable, something he had to get done. There was no avoiding this- it was life or death, for Malfoy or every one of them. Either way, Ron wasn't ready for more sadness or pain or guilt; either way, Ron couldn't let any of that happen.

Finding the others was vital; loneliness was not an option. Even the thought of him without assistance made him loose his concentration. No, no that was not a possibility and Ron had to think positive. He _would _get out of this- he_ would_ and he couldn't think anything else but that. As he scooted along through the trees, he tried to remain confident in these hopeful thoughts, but there was admittedly nothing at all to be truly confident about.

It had been only minutes since Mort had disappeared, Malfoy as his passenger. The very moment they'd vanished Ron had started towards the direction he'd expected his friends to be, of course, the direction he'd chose was only the first point he'd spotted. He had been running for quite some time at a pace that was too fast and too forced. There was a dryness in his chest that made him want to stop all together. His legs felt like jelly as they wobbled on, tired. But he wouldn't stop, couldn't stop. In Ron's mind he had seen the little ray of sunshine that was an ounce of hope and, no matter what, he wouldn't let go of it. Not for anything.

The gray clouds above him drew closer and he heard the roar of thunder up above him. At once the flicker of lightening lit up the forest around him and Ron froze when the scene became nothing but a view of bold and glowing white. When the world returned back to its black state, Ron pulled himself back together, swallowed hard, and set back off.

His face was streaked with a mixture of blood, sweat, and tears. The blood pooled down his forehead, and dribbled down his front, where a massive mess of his own salty sweat had stained his collar. The tears were quite a new aspect of his current expression. As he ran, he whisked them away with the arm of his sweater, coughing. He couldn't think about the embarrassing tears that soaked his visage, couldn't think about the throbbing ache that infiltrated his skull; he had a purpose and one purpose only, and there was nothing that could sway his decision to risk it all.

There was a little whirl around him and Ron was sure that something was racing through the mess of trees towards him. He held his breath and prayed that he was mistaken. However, the sound of undoubtable footsteps dismissed any chance he'd had of safe solitude. Shutting his eyes, Ron braced himself for the sudden appearance of Ashby, hurried and ready for murder. Although, something new belted out from the bushes. "Ron!" Came the cry of the one girl he'd ever loved; the shadow of Hermione Jean Granger burst through the cluster of trunks, her arms outstretched. She looked terrified and relieved all at the same time. She was messy and her face was streaked with tears as well. Dark eyeliner ran down her pink cheeks like little twinkling constellations, her messy hair was the top of the hovering trees the way it sat on top of her head in a fluff. Hermione Granger represented the life that the forest lacked as she hurried on towards him. Her sobs bounced as she ran towards him in a way that Ron only saw in slow motion. "Ron!"

When her body met his, all he could do was give her a little grunt. The rest of her words mushed together inaudibly, but Ron interjected in a chorus of language that sounded a little too much like a mix of something rather foreign. She was saying rapidly, "oh, Ron, you scared the living hell out of me! I just woke up and you weren't there-- _g-gone_! Harry, Ginny, George, and I, we've have been looking for you for _hours!_ We hadn't even known you'd gone off until we saw your empty sleeping bag!" She had completely forgotten about Malfoy's absence in all her worry. Instead, she pressed her face deep into Ron's heaving chest and sighed as if to calm herself, an attempt that truly did her nothing spectacular. Up against him, she fiddled with his shirt and then, upon opening her eyes closer to him, she finally seemed to spot the dots of bright scarlet blood. "Ron Weasley!" She cried, her hand instantly flying over her open mouth, "who hurt you?"

"Hermione!" Ron cried out breathlessly, "Hermione!" But it was all that he could manage to get out, for she had tackled him into such a tight hug that he had to physically choke for her to even begin to back away. "Something horrible is going to happen," he did cough, however, when she'd let him free. At his sudden warning, Hermione's face fell. She looked as if he had just socked her in the face the way all her happiness drained so quickly from it. No longer did her visage resemble the fabulous night sky, but rather the face of a sad and solemn storm.

"Ron," she said fearfully in a whisper, "what are you talking about?" Although Hermione had clearly heard him, she dared to ask him again anyways, despite not truly preparing herself for the reality of it. Her sinking heart had went from a joyful soar to a horrified fall in a matter of moments. She stood waiting to hear his story, panting breathlessly, and let her obvious disheartenment show excessively. All she had been trying to do was find Ron, to know he was safe. In fact, she had been searching for him ever since she had discovered him missing and this wasn't exactly the greeting she'd been expecting.

Nonetheless, Ron was determined. He didn't seem to notice Hermione's discontent. He made a hasty grab for her open hand and intertwined his fingers around hers like thin white vines. Once he'd locked into her, he pulled her along the forest, talking fast and hurried. He looked forward into nothing but the night, desperately hoping they'd run into Harry and the others and quickly be on their way. He said, tripping over his own words, "they found us in the woods- Malfoy and I. And--" but his sentence was shortened by the sound of his own tired breathing. When he'd finally mustered up the strength to continue, he said sadly, "they've taken Malfoy!" and Hermione whisked her hand instantly out of his palm. At the disconnect, Ron whirled around. When he came face to face with her, he found that she was holding an expression that was somewhere between being both horrified and confused.

"Ron," she said, her thick hair flying around her pretty little face, "what are you talking about? Who took Malfoy?"

Ron wasted no time to respond to her. His thin chest heaved up and down as he pondered on how exactly to explain the situation to Hermione. Ron's mind raced anxiously and when he found that there would be no way he could possibly explain it rationally to her, he started off on a whim. What his ranting had resulted in came out as nothing more than a jumbled bunch of mashed sentences. "Ashby took-- well, it was Mort, really, but only not really... Mort took Malfoy. I think Ashby's going to... Malfoy said that Ashby's been trying to," but he couldn't get the remainder of his sentence out. Kill him? The idea seemed rash and preposterous, but after all he'd seen, Ron was inevitably sure of it. He shook his sweaty head and set off in a ramble that was faster than ever. "The point is," Ron said as he tried to keep himself calm, mainly for Hermione's sake, "we've got to find Harry and get back to the center. We're in a lot of trouble!"

But Hermione's interjection came only after Ron had realized he'd been rambling. She said rushed, "who told you this?" And Ron made his way towards her hand once again. This time she didn't pull away as he led her through the bushes. When he'd told her what he'd been told by Malfoy, she listened with quiet attention and, when he did finish, her hand in his was dripping with nervous sweat. She gaped for something to say on the verge of tears, but couldn't come up with anything helpful to say. In fact, she'd allowed Ron to pull her swiftly through the forest as she paced along, utterly astounded. Bumbling about nothing comprehensible, she managed only to let Ron drag her further along through the brush in a determined stride. The two were a stumbling, staggering, uneasy pair, and they scooted along without much of an idea towards a plan.

But in Ron's head, the same rhythm of chanting overtook him and all he could hear was his deepest goals over the horribly rushing wing. _Be safe._

_"Be safe,"_ he pleaded over and over again. The idea of another death, another loss, it broke his entire focus and he stumbled ever so slightly causing Hermione's feet to stagger on rashly behind him. Their faces were dripping with sweat and they called out for the others in voices that were horribly desperate. However, Hermione's head seemed to be more focus than Ron's. As she allowed herself to follow Ron's questionable lead, she raised her wand up into the night sky and shouted something high.

A light red firework lit up the sky like wildfire. With a loud boom the little firework rained down overhead like burning rain, and it littered down over them as they scooted along. And all the while Ron's mind pestered him restlessly. Above everything, it sang around him, "_Be safe. Be safe..."_

_Please, God, be safe._

* * *

Draco Malfoy was laying on his back in a pool of which he only could hope was sweat. The lumbering shadow that stretched over him stood as if it were waiting, but it didn't have to wait much longer. On the floor, Malfoy felt an instant pressure at the center of his chest and he opened his eyes to come face to face with the tip of Ashby's long, wooden wand. His first words were monotonous and his face was dripping with sweat when he said, "don't move." And, as the sting of sudden fear raced through Malfoy's body hit him horribly, Malfoy obliged, no questions asked. But Ashby only shrugged his broad and hefty shoulders, "not that you could even if you tried," and then gave one tired, yet accomplished little laugh.

"You know," he was smiling despite it all as he pointed a finger towards the center of Malfoy's pale face, "you have proven to be a slippery little snake, you know. I mean, after I studied up on your files I knew you'd be a tough one, but _damn!"_ And once again Ashby's face lifted. "You, you here-- you are actually quite the accomplishment, dear boy, I hope you realize that." He stopped, as if waiting for Malfoy to speak up, though Malfoy did even consider even trying to do so; he remain still, watching the wand as if it were a loaded gun. "Don't get me wrong, I never expected you to be an easy catch; I'd studied your little files long enough to know you're a hard headed little brat."

Ashby continued with a shake of his massive head, "what surprised me was that Harry _Potter_ was a lot easier than you were!" Although this time Ashby stepped forward just a little and he bent down to meet Malfoy at an even closer level. His voice was now more soft and sympathetic when he spoke up again and there was a caring and earnest sparkle in his large eyes. "Of course, you just haven't heard me out," he said soothingly. "Would you do that for me, Mr. Malfoy? Would you hear me out?"

The office was just as Draco had always seen it, but there was a frightening darkness that overtook it now. The windows were tightly closed and the curtains were drawn over each. The only light that leaked on him was the slight trace of moonlight that shone brightly in the dark night sky. Thunder roared through the room, followed by a bust of bright lightening, but Ashby seemed oblivious to the impending storm. His eyes were locked on Malfoy and on Malfoy only. The intensity behind his glare was almost unbreakable. Though, as he remained motionless, Malfoy's eyes watched Ashby's every move, praying for mercy. He felt the blood seeping through his nice white button up and his stomach did flips. He remembered being on the floor, Ron standing over him, and that was it. How did this happen? How could he let his happen? And despite himself, he found that he was worried about the others as well. Although, voicing his concerns was definitely not an option. As he watched Ashby with a hazy vision, Malfoy was almost too scared to move a single muscle.

Instantly Malfoy was ashamed of his vulnerability, however, his shame didn't keep him from remaining completely still. He focused on not moving a muscle and tried to keep the composure that he truly didn't have. Once again Ashby tried to reason with the boy and, tilting his head, he said with more anger than the last time, "Will you hear me out?"

Malfoy's gulp was his only sufficient answer because, truth be told, his mind wasn't running correctly with such a threat pointed between his eyes. Cross-eyed all the way to the tip of Ashby's wand, Malfoy watched the therapist lean back, smile at the thought of Draco's complying behavior, and tilt his head with a burst of pressing glee. At once, due to the undeniable nerves that floated through Draco's entire torso, he managed a half nod. "Oh, good," he said again, "because I didn't exactly want to do this the hard way!" And he backed off, releasing his wand from the surface of Malfoy's skin. After a brief moment had gone by, Ashby pulled himself into a comfortable position and started up again with one big excruciating sigh. "The truth of the matter is that I haven't been very honest with you... but I couldn't, not right off the bat, of course."

"Don't get me wrong," Ashby drawled on, "I am a therapist, but only on the side. And before you ask, no, I'm not a Death Eater." Instantly Ashby whisked up his sleeves and revealed two bare and pale forearms. "Not that I didn't admire the man, because I did. He just was doing it all wrong, you know? Sneaking up on the Wizarding World like that." Ashby lowered his voice to that of a little whisper and pressed his head back downwards, "want me to let you in on a little secret, just you and I? If Voldemort wanted to get anywhere, he would have done it by gaining the Wizarding World's trust! Trust! You see why a therapist is the _perfect_ career? No one expects a thing-- your father sure as hell didn't. All I had to do was send Mort over to the Ministry. The very _second_ I mentioned your name, therapy was, understandably, an accepted idea. I mean," Ashby nodded, "you'd be surprised at how many people seem to think that you're one _fucked up_ kid." Then Ashby scrunched his face as if in disgust, although he instantly regained himself. "But that is far beside the point."

"The point is that I've found out very much about you- I think I know very much about you, in fact I think I know more about you than you do yourself!" Then Ashby whisked himself away by flicking his own wrist. He managed to excite himself, however, quickly after. "Your dear father came in and told me each and every concern he had about you, you know. Says he knows you've been having nightmares recently." Draco's face drained of any little color it had left. "He also told me you're distant, forlorn. Oh, and that you cry at night sometimes? He said he's heard you do so on often occasions." At once, Draco's face flushed red, obviously embarrassed. "But it is alright, everything is alright once you look at in in the big picture. I see you in the big picture, Draco. I understand you more than I think you understand yourself."

Ashby let himself drawl on. He said anxiously with bursts of excitement, "once I found out you were coming to me, it was all quite easy-- I did my studying. I don't think you're the coward that you seem to think you are, you see. No, I think anything but. Because Voldemort was what truly scared you- his plan, not him as a being. You're a smart boy, Draco, you knew that his attempts were fruitless. That's why I had to deceive you, at first. Using Legilimency was always my original plan; I had found out a lot from my research, don't get me wrong, but seeing directly into your memories, your _thoughts-- _you don't even understand how immensely that helped me. Draco, you may be vulnerable, but who isn't? It's not vulnerability that is the issue, it's how you handle it."

He waited for Malfoy to say something, but the only thing that the boy could muster was a nervous question. Malfoy's eyes found Ashby and, horrified, he asked, "I'm bleeding?" The tips of his pale fingers found his bloody mouth and the taste of iron was as strong as ever.

Ashby blinked and then managed another laugh. "Believe it or not," he said beaming, "that was Weasley, actually." Though the small tangent didn't seem to faze Ashby like it did Malfoy, who left his hand pressed up against his mouth. Without skipping a beat, Ashby let himself continue out loud. The excitement that filled Ashby's voice was unmistakable. His smile was a glowing expression of desire and knowledge. "After all my work, after all my research, I knew I was correct. Draco, you possess power that I have never seen, power that I'd never imagined to see. You can pick up where the Dark Lord left off. You can have everyone at your knees in just moments and I will be your first of many supporters. Mort here will undoubtedly be the second." At once Ashby's attention was brought to a tall and lean shadow in the dark room. Irwin Mort had been standing completely still the entire time and then, at the mention of his name, only his eyes made movement. He looked as distant and gone as ever and when he made eye contact with the pudgy therapist, Ashby said again in a mocking sort of tone, "won't you, Irwin?" The lingering shadow gave a brief little nod and then returned to his stoney state.

Draco did not dare move, for Ashby had not yet given him permission to do so. Of course, he was rather fearful to do anything that might anger the frantic man. He tried to ignore the intense pressure that stung him at the back of his throat. The aching sensation of burning tears that threatened him made his face flush and he prayed that he could show something that Ashby would see as strength. But Ashby did not seem to notice Malfoy's discomfort and he seemed to rather think that Malfoy wasn't too put off by the idea. The therapist's smile remained plastered to his face and he appeared to be waiting for Malfoy to deliver some sort of response. However, as he remained still on his back, he said to know one but the ceiling, "I d-don't w-ant to kill anybody."

This absolutely amused Ashby, who snorted with excitement. He laughed carelessly and then responded with a casual tone of voice, "oh, killing is necessary, but it's not a main priority. When the Wizarding World sees the power you possess, there won't be many that oppose..." Ashby's nonchalant attitude made Malfoy stiffen. On the floor he let out a shaky breath and pressed his eyes shut, praying that reality wasn't truly happening. However, at the constant sound of Ashby's amusement reminded him that there was no escaping his predicament. On his back on the floor, Malfoy tried his best not to completely break down.

There was tenseness in his voice when he said it, but Malfoy's response came as a slow and shaky question. He shook his head and, as he did so, he felt the sweat leak down his face. It was dark and cold in the dimly light office, but Malfoy was burning hot with embarrassment. "I d-don't understand."

"There's nothing to understand," Ashby said, rushed, "it's quite simple. You are all powerful. I saw if for myself. I've been testing you this entire time and I've come to the conclusion that you can take this world by storm. Because it couldn't be Harry Potter, like everyone seems to think. No, Potter's power came from some other source-- a deceased source. You, Draco, have a power of your own. It has to be you! It's always had to be you."

Once again Draco's response was rational and unreliable. He shook his head in sheer disbelief and remained still. "Please," he said shakily, "I-- I..." But Malfoy's voice trailed off and he shut his eyes yet again. Only then, however, Ashby seemed to truly get the hint. He strode forwards once again, though this time he was slightly more unjust. With his hands out in front of him, he reached Malfoy's nearer side and bent down low.

Ashby's voice was careful and modest. In an earnest and caring tone he said, "oh, get up. Make yourself comfortable." At once Malfoy turned to pick himself up, in hopes of trying to please Ashby. What he managed to accomplish, however, was to bring himself to a sitting position, where he stared at the dark room with evident horror. Even in the blackness he looked an absolute mess. A dried trail of drool ran down the corner of his jaw and ended at the brim of his white shirt. The glistening wetness in his eyes was in the form of oncoming tears that Ashby could not quite make out. On the ground, Malfoy coughed and then wiped his running nose with the sleeve of his already messy shirt. At that moment he felt more like a child than he had in a long time, and the idea of it scared him. The tenseness in his chest tightened and he struggled with himself relentlessly.

He allowed himself a slight amount of bravery when he said, "you've been hurting me. I know you have," and then pulled his eyes away from Ashby's, as if staring at the man would bring him more pain. But Ashby didn't take Draco's accusation too harshly. Another beaming smile broke over Ashby's face and he pulled himself even closer to the miserable blond boy.

"Ah, yes," he said truthfully, "sorry about that. It's nothing personal," he added, "it's just the effects of the spells I've been using. You'll be using them too, soon. They're very powerful spells, but I wouldn't worry about it if I were you, I have no doubt that they will come quite easily to you." As Ashby continued to speak, the hefty excitement in his voice was unmistakable. His eyes glistened with every word and he seemed to close in on Malfoy. The throbbing ache that flowed through Malfoy's entire body was undeniable and he sniffed with a groggy moan. "Everything I did here was in your best interest, you know. Even showing Potter an altered memory of yours." At this, Malfoy's head snapped and he felt his chest involuntarily sink.

Malfoy's voice was a little whiny, but he didn't seem to mind his complaining tone. Miserably, his shoulders dropped and he said immaturely, "that was you?"

"Yes," Ashby continued, "but with good reason. Turning the others against you gave you motivation. Animosity is when committing a homicide, Draco, makes the business a whole lot easier-- not that it won't get easy over time. Of course, as I'm informed, you and Weasley seem to have gotten off on a little bit of a smooth start. But that's alright, I'll deal with Weasley; I know how much you want Mr. Potter to yourself." At this, Ashby gave the blond boy a little wink and a cold chill went up Malfoy's spine. Butterflies flew inside his stomach and he prayed for a way out, something to do, but nothing brilliant came to him. In fact, he remained sitting very still, his mouth open and his eyes wide. The rhythm that repeated in Malfoy's mind was nothing but the song of utter disbelief. "What do you say, Mr. Malfoy?" Ashby said finally and he thrust out a large, lumbering, and strong hand.

Draco's eyes found Mort, who stood under the Imperious Curse as a statue. He wondered what had happened to the others that had denied this man and then at once tried to push the thoughts out of his buzzing mind. He was trapped and scared and all the while he stared gaping at Ahsby's steady palm. A single tear made its escape from Malfoy's watering eye and it slid down his cheek, but Ashby remained waiting. Everything whirled by him at once and the room seemed to spin, though he was sure the illness wasn't being caused by Ashby this time, but it was only due to his own fretting anxiety.

And maybe it was because he didn't want to loose control, didn't want to loose himself, that he managed to straighten his posture on the ground; Ashby noted this and let his smile broaden. The grown anticipation showed in the man's twinkling visage. "What do you say, Draco?" Ashby said again, with more thrill than ever before.

Draco, however, didn't say a word. Fear gripped him relentlessly. Silently he lifted his hand and then thrust it in to the open palm of Ashby's. In the darkness, the therapist's smile shone like a pumpkin in the outlandish night.

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**Vonne: **Review!!! I can't wait to hear from you. Hopefully I'll have chapter twenty six updated fast, so please submit all your reviews or questions. I will be sure to address them all. Thanks so much, guys! You have no idea how much I love hearing from you. You all just make my day! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I really enjoyed writing it.

Again, ask away, it's not an issue! Thank you all so much!


	26. Ground Zero

**Vonne:** Right to it... chapter twenty-six. I'm not going to update until I have plenty reviews. Sorry! :) I have more stories you can check out. I'd love it if you did so.

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**Chapter Twenty-Six:  
Ground Zero**

This was it. The end, ground zero. All else had failed and Draco had reverted back to everything he'd ever regretted.

He had been propped back up by an beaming Ashby, who had just been reassured of all he'd been hoping for, though Draco was not returned his wand. His eyes watched Ashby as he paced and then, every once in a while, flickered back to the stoney Mort, who remained still in the corner of the room lifeless. Although, there was not much to be discussed in the office; Ashby had taken Draco by the upper arm, a rather tight grip for a man who had been so admiring of the boy, and led him through the center, his mouth running fast. Much hadn't been heard by Draco, however, who only watched the shirking door of the therapist's office in the distance with an intense longing for his wand. But he kept himself silent and didn't ask for it once. Though even if he had complained for it, Ashby was too excited to listen.

Ashby's hands moved wildly as he talked, rambling about his plans. Of course, he added once again as if to make sure he was clear, murder would be unavoidable. "But once the task is done the first time, Draco, it's quite an easy thing to overcome." He said so in a way that suggested one got used to such a thing, perhaps found it quite enjoyable over time. The thought sent shivers up Draco's spine and he stood still and straight, allowing himself to be swayed by the calm notion in the man's greedy voice. Then Ashby's eyes flickered over to Mort, who had been following them slowly at their heels. "Take Irwin for instance," Ashby continued as he gripped Malfoy's arm tighter, "I would have _just loved_ to get him out of my hair once and for all." Behind them Mort didn't move a muscle; he didn't even slightly react. Statue like and blank, he kept his face fronted forward in an unblinking trance. Draco didn't ask Ashby why he'd decided to keep his assistant around, but he had a good idea, after all.

"Once we have Harry Potter out of this world, hope will be lost for everyone else. It's disgusting how high they hold that boy, don't you think?" At once Ashby broke out in a fit of laughter and, anxiously, he patted Draco with a hard swing on his back, frightening him slightly. "Maybe they would not be so optimistic about their hero if only they'd read his _files!"_

Draco pulled to Ashby's side, the two of them walked through and out of the stone center briskly. At the view of the emerald grass outstretched in front of him, Ashby scanned the forest over with a sudden stroke of determination. His amusement completely vanished. No longer was the man smiling and fidgety, but his eyes glistened with something new. He squared his jaw and then turned to Draco with a grim expression; around Draco's slender forearm, the man's thick fingers tightened. "Don't go anywhere," he advised, and then all but pushed Draco from his spot next to him. Yanking out his wand, he cocked his chin up and commanded, "follow me."

The two of them crept into the black forest, ducking under the low branches hastily. Above them, the moon had vanished out of sight behind the large tops of the invasive tress near them. They scrutinized the brush carefully, but it seemed as if there was nothing to see. Silence overtook the sleeping trees and Ashby seemed to like it that way; when Draco's nervous breathing because uneasy and shaky, he pressed a pudgy and dirty finger to Draco's mouth furiously. Malfoy took in the sights, holding his own breath now in sole fear of the man ahead of him. Sweat dribbled down his face, mingling in with the dirt that masked him. The view of the forest was different with Draco at Ashby's side. Alone, Draco had been worried about what could be out there watching and waiting for him. But now, as his position had so drastically changed from prey to predator, the darkness seemed to take on an entirely new meaning. It was so much stranger being the one that someone else needed to fear.

Clearly, Malfoy felt like the man's puppet. He appeared almost emotionless as they walked on, Draco directly behind Ashby. There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do, that could change the fact that he was trapped. Wandless and without a plan, he continued to stalk Ashby's path anxiously. And when he finally did speak, it was in a tone so hopefully that it made Ashby almost physically sick. "Maybe," he said as his eyes scanned the brush, "they found their way out?"

"Impossible," Ashby said with irritation, "this whole forest's been hexed. You don't think I thought of that before?" And instantly Malfoy shut up, deciding he didn't truly want to know about what sort of traps that had been set up around the trees. Now watching his steps closely, as if afraid to activate one of the man's fatal hexes, he walked on tip-toes cautiously. Then the man turned around in a quick action that reminded Draco of a cracking whip. "You know what?" he asked and, even though he was sure it was a rhetorical question, Draco shook his head. "Change of plans."

With that he grabbed Malfoy by his arm again and the two spun back around. They walked in a fast stride back towards the center, where one single bright light glowed in the growing distance.

Over the sound of crackling thunder Ashby informed Draco that it was all going to end tonight.

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Trailing behind Harry Potter, Ron hadn't quite minded letting his best friend take the lead.

It hadn't taken long for Hermione and Ron to find Harry and the others. They had walked for almost a half and hour as Hermione shot bright fireworks into the air, a clear indicator of their helplessness. Harry had come first, pushing through the trees with his wand outstretched. Dripping sweat, he said they'd been looking for them for two hours ever since they'd noticed they'd been gone. "We heard screaming!" Ginny informed them as she too broke from the trees with her brother, "Coming from the center. We thought you were dead!"

Though after he and Hermione had managed to find the others soon enough, at that point, Ron admittedly was too tired to pull together any of the strength that leadership required. Instead, he remained behind the scenes, in the back of their group, letting Hermione cling on to him with a gist of newfound worry. He'd explained to them everything he knew, though what he knew admittedly wasn't much. As they stumbled through the dark forest, he said breathlessly, "Draco's in trouble."

However, from ahead of him George let out a small snort. Rolling his eyes he said strongly, "what? The two of you are on a first name basis now?" And Ron fell silent. This wasn't a time to start a fight with George and he knew it. He did, nonetheless, turn to Hermione for help.

Catching his helpless glimpse, Hermione continued on for him. "We all are in trouble. What Ron is trying to say is that something is going on here. Ashby isn't what he seems to be... or, at least, is hiding something." Her thick brown hair billowed behind her. They had been walking quite fast, but she allowed herself to stay steady for Ron's sake, who had been leaning on her throughout the entire time period. Hermione's eyes flashed in the nothingness, a desperate plea in her voice that signified that she truly believed her boyfriend when she said to the others, "we have to get out of here."

"Listen, Ron," George said, unconvinced, but he could not deny that his pace had surely quickened, "you're saying Malfoy told you all this? _Draco_ Malfoy? Come on, mate, you've got to remember who you're getting your information from!" But Ron watched his feet. There was no way in the world Draco had been lying; he had sounded so truly horrified, so deeply scared. However, Ron didn't mention the look in Malfoy's eye of fear and desperation, didn't even mention the apology that he had submitted, because, despite himself, he found that he was actually wondering 'what if?'. Draco Malfoy had made his life hell in school, had been pretty deceitful from the very beginning. But then, in the forest clearing, Ron had been almost completely sold. And if he had been lying then, well, then he was one hell of an actor.

Ron shook his head and swallowed hard, "no," he said flatly, "you didn't see him there. There's no way he's making this stuff up." But no one seemed to pay him any attention but Hermione, who pressed her head to Ron's side and rubbed his arm monotonously.

"Let's just get back to the center in one piece," Harry said with a tone of voice that was undoubtedly a plea, "we can talk this whole thing out. I'm sorry to say this, Ron, but I have to agree with George on this." Ron focused back on the ground, the blood boiling in his veins. Anger wasn't the word to describe his overwhelming frustration, but he was pretty close to just leaving the pack and figuring the whole thing out for himself. Hermione at his side was what stopped him from doing so; she was so _worried_ there, and he stared down at her with a fit of admiration. He resisted the urge to stroke her head and managed only to squeeze her back, thanking her for not directly casting him off so easily. Though whether or not Hermione believed him wasn't quite such a sure thing. Although, he kept himself pressed close to her, hoping that she soon wouldn't have to see it to believe for herself to finally believe him.

Then, after their long patience, there was a light in the distance. A little white orb that had to have been one of the glowing windows of the center. Ginny let out a little scream of joy and, all together, the five of them rushed towards it. They pushed through the brush on desperate feet, no longer worried about all their belongings they'd left behind in the forest. Ron had almost completely forgotten about the urge he felt to pass out. Such fleeting hope fluttered inside of him that all he could think about was reaching the center and putting everything right again. The trees blurred together as one big emerald mush. Each stride was that of anxiety and excitement, and they panted as one, their breaths echoing out in the distance. Laced between Ron's fingers, Hermione's hand squeezed his and he squeezed hers back as they fiercely pressed on.

However their thrill didn't last them long. Their joy had completely vanished as they finally pushed themselves through the last inch of the trees. The backyard of the center looked completely bare, however, they couldn't deny the unmistakable shadow that stood out in front of them. The dark thing didn't move, but when it caught sight of their group, it emitted a sound that appeared to be that of joy itself. Slowly and cautiously, keeping themselves pressed together with glue-like unison, they walked into the moonlight for a better look. They hadn't expected what had been standing there to meet them. There he was, standing there with a glowing smile plastered on his sweaty. Boyce Ashby, alone, outstretched his hands and cried in a tone of voice that sounded absolutely and completely gleeful, "congratulations!"

They stood in a mob, breathing together as if panting. None of them moved a muscle. However, they exchanged confused looks back at one another. Finally, lowering his own wand, Harry asked with a raised eyebrow, "congratulations for what?"

Ashby shook his head and let his palm collide with his forehead. When he looked back up at the group of five, he said with a toothy smile, "congratulations for making it back here, of course! You were much, much quicker than I expected!" Ron's eyes swiveled around, trying anxiously to spot Malfoy. However, the grounds were clear of him. Nowhere in sight did Ron spot his figure and his heart stopped, dreading the worst.

"Where's Malfoy?" Ron whispered to Hermione. He felt her shoulders sink; she had been wondering the same thing.

"Why don't we just come inside, then, hm?" Ashby was saying, his arms open as if beckoning them inwards. "We'll celebrate!" Despite his cheerful enthusiasm none of them made any motion to oblige. The smile flickered from Ashby's round face. He lowered his hands slowly and watched as Harry, George, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione stayed their ground. Several moments passed before either of them said a word and when Ashby was sure that no one would take the first initiative, he questioned, "is there something wrong?"

When the group stirred, Ron said it himself. His tone was flat and demanding, and when he asked, not even George felt the need to protest. Ron's eyes locked in Ashby's, who's face remained particularly still. Through clenched teeth, Ron said, "where's Malfoy?"

However Ashby didn't even flinch. Unaffected, he shook his head and let his smile return to his face. "Oh, dear boy, you frightened me. Here I was thinking you were worrying about something important!" His words made Ron's strong face falter. Confused, the red head remained silent. "Nonetheless, he's here, safe and sound! Why don't you come inside?" Ashby gave the backyard a felt sweep with his eyes and said finally, "it's_ dangerous_ out here." Ron's stomach did flips.

Again, Ashby's words did nothing to pursue them. Despite the butterflies in his stomach and the pressure building up in his throat, Ron croaked back hoarsely, "Prove it."

At once Ashby's face fell. Finally he lowered his big beefy arms. He didn't let his eyes unlock from the Weasley's. His tone was flat, but his temper was unavoidable. "Fine," he said and then turned back to the center almost mechanically. "Mr. Malfoy?" he called, "Draco, come here for a moment!" Roaring, Ashby called out to the boy, "Prove to everyone you are alive and well, hm?" And then Ashby turned back around to face the group, Ron in particular. Timid footsteps disrupted the silence and a tall, slender shadow was instant cast upon the interior of Ashby's center. Though it took him quite a while to present himself, eventually the long shadow morphed into Draco Malfoy, who stood in the doorframe with his head down, his blond hair loose around his face. "Don't be shy, Draco," Ashby said, but he still looked only at Ron, "come on out. Inform your _friends_ of your good health." The way he said friends suggested that he'd considered them anything but. Obligingly, Malfoy dragged himself further from the door frame, though he kept his eyes pitched down. When he finally stopped walking, however, he paused directly at Ashby's side.

Ashby put a thick arm around Draco's shoulder and Ron's hands curtly balled into two sweaty fists. Ashby lowered his head to Draco's level and asked as if he cared, "how are you feeling, Mr. Malfoy? Is everything ok?"

Instantly Draco mumbled, "I'm fine," and then instantly fell silent.

Draco Malfoy was dripping with blood, sweat, and dirt. His blond hair was a complete mess on top of his head, each string of white-blond sticking out in many different directions. A trail of crimson blood trickled down the side of his face and stopped there at his curiously loose jawline. Despite his face being pressed down to the floor, it had been surely obvious that he had lost much of the only color he had left about him. He looked completely disheveled with the sleeve of his white shirt ripped slightly, and the bottom half of his shirt only slightly sticking out of the top of his pants, as if he had been unsure as to whether or not he wanted it tucked in or left out. His polished shoes were noticeably scuffed and torn, as well, and, after all, there was not a neat or proper thing about Draco Malfoy in the slightest. And there was something else vaguely strange about the boy and Ron noticed it at once. Even at his distance, he could make out the little twitches of pain that shot from Draco's body. Every so often, he would give a little twitch and then shake his head as if to try mask it. Even Malfoy's shoulders rose with pain and, loose at his side, his fingers unwillingly clenched into little balls before he relaxed them and shoved them into the pockets of his dark trousers.

Once again Ashby thrust his hands back into the air. He roared with triumph, "he's fine! The boy is well! Are we convinced of it now? Shall I cut him open to prove to you that he's living?" The sound of his tone made it clear that he probably wasn't completely objective to the idea currently. His tight grip around Draco's shoulders with pressing with annoyance. However, Ashby smiled, as if brushing off the incident like it never had happened. He beamed for the second time, though it was a smile that was even more forced than the first. "Now come on inside!" he begged, "I insist!"

Ron's eyes found Harry and he shook his head stiffly. Harry, however, lowered his wand. He gave Draco a curious little glance and then carried himself forward. "Ah, thank you, Mr. Potter! Thank you! I'll have to inform the Ministry of your willing cooperation with me! Ah, it makes me so happy to be seeing so much improvement!" Ginny was next to follow, however, she did not do so because of Ashby's persuasion; she had her eyes locked on her boyfriend and let herself trust him. Her hand leading George along slowly, the two of them left just Hermione and Ron standing off together. "Ms. Granger," Ashby said with a smile, "I forgot to tell you! I received a letter from the Ministry in fact just this morning. They're looking to hire some young witches as interns. I was going to write a very special letter of recommendation just for you- I know how much you want to become an important figure in the Magical Department."

Hermione stiffened. Slowly, her eyes crept up towards Ron's and her mouth barely moved when she asked, "do you trust him?" Her hand in his, Ron could feel her start to sweat. She was so close to him, he could just hear her heart start to beat at an extreme pace. Maybe he was wrong- there was Malfoy, alive and well. If Ashby truly wanted to kill the boy he would have done so by now, would have killed them all right then and there if what Malfoy had been saying were true. Still, Draco had not looked up once and the thought of a trap was very present in Ron's mind.

Right back at her, Ron said in a whisper, "no."

"You'll be released as soon as they find out about all the good you've done here- all the improvement I've seen from you."

Hermione's heart beat faster. She tightened her grip in Ron's hands and, barely, just barely, she whispered, "I believe you, Ron." Next, she said more swiftly, "follow my lead." Then she broke free from Ron's hand and inched her way forward, her eyes searching for a clue in Malfoy's face, though he would not quite show it. As she strode over to Ashby, she called out, "come on, Ronald. Can't you see Malfoy is fine? You've got too much on your mind! Don't over analyze things." Turning around slightly, her eyes met his. With her head over her shoulder she said again, "come inside with us and relax, alright? Everything will be okay, you'll see." And she let her right hand lift up from her side, waiting for him to take it.

Ron shook his head, allowing himself to trust her. Following her plan, he let himself push on forward. "I'm so tired." He said with a sleepy tone, "my mind must be gone lately. I'm sorry, Mr. Ashby. I've just been so stressed as of lately. I hope you won't hold it against me."

"Not at all, not at all, Mr. Weasley!" Ashby cried with a new sense of excitement. However, at his side Draco was not so thrilled. He didn't look up, but it was clear as to what he'd been thinking. His entire body stance shrunk and he let out a mortified sigh as he pressed his eyes tightly shut. "Now," Ashby said, failing to notice Draco's discomfort, "let's get inside where it's warm. It's been such a long night, hasn't it?" Ron agreed out loud, though for different reasons entirely. In fact, he'd suspected the night to further continue to be much longer.

They marched down the hall in a snake-like fashion, one behind another. Ashby pushed by Malfoy, grabbing his arm once again. He led them through the halls briskly and talked back to them with complete nonsense as if to detract from any worry that flooded their mind. Ron's eyes bore into the blond head of Malfoy, who continued to study the ground relentlessly. If only he could talk to him, but that business was too risky now. With Ashby in ear's distance of them their conversation would be undoubtedly overheard. Instead he looked back down at Hermione, who glanced up at him once and refused to do so again; even such a short glare would seem suspicious.

Thinking quick, Ron extended his foot and thrust it under Malfoy as he walked. His plan was a success; as if he were only clumsy, Malfoy stumbled over Ron's outstretched leg and collided with the floor in a messy heap. Finally he looked up, horrified at what he'd sure thought had been a hex sent by Ashby. However, when the group paused around him, he looked almost thankful to be alive. Ashby's voice bounced off of the walls nervously, "watch your step there, Mr. Malfoy."

On the ground Malfoy only muttered and Ron dove down in an excuse to help him up. He made the mission quite an obstacle and bent over in just the right position to let Malfoy's head collide into his shoulder. At the collision Malfoy let out a little off and the sweat from his forehead leaked through the sleeve of Ron's shirt. With his jaw right next to Draco's ear, Ron whispered, "what's going on?"

Against his body, Ron could feel the involuntary twitches that overtook Draco. They were small, but evident. It took him a while to speak and when he did his voice was restrained, as if he had to push it out of his throat. However, when he did say it, there was no mistaking his warning. Over the massive amount of pain that flooded through his entire body, Malfoy said back in a broken whisper, "t-trap. It's-- a-- trap."

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	27. The Trap

**Vonne: **Sorry it took so long! Hope it is worth the wait... I am not sure of how happy I am with the way I wrote this only because I was in SUCH a hurry to get it completed for you all. So, please, let me know what you think. I promise I'll get more into the next chapter.

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**Chapter Twenty-Seven:  
The Trap**

It was all Ron Weasley could hear after a while. Draco had said it andit echoed through his mind like a rhythm. Kneeling below him, Malfoy's eyes were locked into his; his cold eyes almost melting. From his mouth he said back up to him sorely, "don't go into the office," but Ron could barely hear him over the roar of his buzzing mind. Malfoy's gaze remained intact with Ron and, as if to snap the Weasley out of it, he shifted uneasily on the ground. His eyes wandered to Ashby, who looked on wearily. Snapping out of it, Malfoy sank back and, once again, he found the floor. With a shaky hand, Ron thrust his arm out in front of him and pulled Draco up from the floor so fast that the two of them collided swiftly.

When their shoulders met, Ron said between clenched teeth, "what's the plan?" And Malfoy, despite himself, merely shrugged. "Well," Ron said, not bothering to hide his annoyance, "you've got to help me out here. We haven't got much time."

Draco's answer came as a slight murmur. He laughed almost bitterly and almost choked back, "you're telling me." Against his chest, Malfoy's body gave a little spasm and he coughed, embarrassed. However, when he attempted to draw himself away, Ron yanked him back closer. "You're making it obvious," Malfoy warned hotly. Despite being in intolerable pain, Draco couldn't mask the short temper that had always defined him. Agitated slightly, he added heatedly, "Ashby's not an idiot, Weasley. Unless you aim to get us all killed." Ron made a slight choking noise as if he were going to protest, but then thought instantly better of it. In fact, he was so much against starting an argument that he relaxed his features, exceptionally squared his jaw, and nodded in blunt agreement. And, at Ron's submissive gesture, Draco couldn't help but make a face in confusion.

Standing at the front of what then had become a rather jumbled line, Ashby pushed his way to the back. With a faux fit of sincere concern, he pressed, "that was quite a spill, Mr. Malfoy! Are you quite alright?"

Rubbing his sore shoulder, Malfoy's eyes dropped yet again. Murmuring over the rush of the wind outside, he muttered, "i'm fine," and Ashby's worried face lifted into that of high spirits.

Ashby's hands waved around almost frantically. He motioned the group over to him, as if he were about to embrace them all in one big giant hug, and then tilted his head towards the left of the narrow hall. The door to his office was closed, but from under the crack of the door, there was a blue light that was practically undeniable. "Alright then, come along," he cried out cheerfully, "let's keep moving then. I have certificates in my office and something I want you all to see. You haven't quite finished the course yet." As he said this, his mouth gave a little twitch; behind his glasses, his eyes sparked vibrantly.

There was a moment of complicated silence and then a rather curious voice said out loud distrustfully, "wait a minute." Hermione Granger, her thick brown hair over her slender shoulder, let her brow lift up rather unconvinced. She eyed Ashby for a short second and then said, slowly, "I thought you said we'd finished our sessions with you?" She stepped forward, one long leg over another, and her hands flew up to play with her long frizzy mess of hair, now stick out in all different directions. From her cheek, an open wound dripped blood. "What could we possibly have to finish?"

"Oh, Ms. Granger, always the curious one, are we?" There was a hefty amount of confidence in his voice, but it was laced with uncontrollable shakiness. "I assure you, it's not another recreation course." Hermione however, already previously not convinced, tilted her head to one side. Her hovering eyes located Ron, who shook his head slowly. "Mr. Weasley!" Ashby exclaimed, only slightly catching this warning, "I'll allow you to sport your wand if you're so weary of me." The wrinkles around his eyes deepened and he tried a laugh. "I assure you, nothing is going to happen when you're around me. Mr. Malfoy he, he's not well..."

Once more, Ron gave Draco a passing glance and then bit his lip. Fidgeting with the urge grab Hermione and run, he turned back to the squat therapist, nodded, and swallowed hard. Despite himself, Draco's face melted, as if instantly lost. Whispering slightly, Ron said back up to Ashby in agreement, "you know, I'm starting to agree with you," and at his side, Draco fumed. However, Ashby's smile lifted. Bemused, he lifted one of his big arms and looped it around Ron's slender shoulders with a booming laugh. His large hand slammed down on Ron's arched back and he whispered to him how he had something special in mind for him, especially.

Hovering, Malfoy was too preoccupied with his lingering to notice the second swooping hand quickly rush over him, as well. With a little gasp for air, Malfoy eyed Ashby's thick arm nervously and over the man's giggling front, Malfoy tried to make even slight eye contact with Ron. At Malfoy's side, Ashby's fingers dug deeper as if they were claws. Although behind them, Hermione and the others exchanged curious glances. Chocking on her own urge to say something in protest, Hermione stuffed her fists into her jacket pockets; inside, her fingers fiddled readily with her wand.

They neared the door, Ashby in the front with Ron and Draco looped at his side unwillingly. He'd spoke with them both exclusively, every so often allowing Malfoy to gasp or shutter or wince. And when they finally got to it, Ashby's chest lifted. He inhaled bravely and eyed the lot of them joyously. When he finished his long stare he turned back to the doorframe, swung his hand to the open space and grinned. Harry was the first to allow himself to enter. Bravely, though almost too trusting, he pushed one eager foot through the threshold followed by Ginny and George at his heels. Hermione, however, stood wearily at the door, her eyes glancing through the door and then ever so slightly back to Ron and Malfoy.

"Ladies first, Ms. Granger," Ashby interjected when he noticed Ron reach out for Hermione's lingering hand.

And then, swiftly, Hermione made her way in as she gave Ron's wrist one last uneasy squeeze. Blue and dazzling, all eyes were almost instantly upon it; in the corner the bright blue Pensive, but Ashby paid no attention to the little device. Instead his feet moved hastily towards his desk and he seemed to calmly set down his own wand. "Please," he said, smiling still, "take a seat."

Ron's eye uneasily found its way to the glowing pensive and he and Draco seemed to linger at the door. At his side, Ron could hear Malfoy's broken breathing and, trying not to make any sudden movements, he locked gazes with Hermione and swallowed hard. His jaw shut, he whispered for Malfoy to follow his lead this time and assumed he'd heard him, even though the blond did not respond back. Ashby didn't say a word, but extended his hand and cocked his head. Then, obviously, his eyes found Malfoy as if sincerely warning him.

"Go," Malfoy coughed and Ron managed to stumble into the room. Ahead of him Ashby lifted his wand and Malfoy winced. However, only the door behind them slammed shut and nothing else.

They were all at their seats, sitting there apprehensively in the sheer silence. "Well," Ashby said as a new smile crept across his fat face, "once again, congratulations." Hermione made a swift motion and Ashby caught her before she could open her mouth to interject. "I _did_ want you to do one more thing before I pass you." He paused a moment and then waved his wand around as if he were about to cast something from it. When no such spell came, however the lot of them noted that he was only playing around. He sucked in his face as if he were considering something deeply. "I'd lie you all to talk it out."

There was a fit of necessary silence, and then came the burst of uneasy stammering. Harry, who had shifted slightly in his seat, started off first. His glasses slipped slowly down the bridge of his nose and, moving them back up to their propped place, he stuttered, "t-t-talk it o-out?"

"Of course!" Ashby exclaimed, "what else?" But when yet another unwanted voice came from their group, the eager therapist started up again. "Ah, ah, ah," he tisked yet again, "I'd like to go first if you don't mind it, Ms. Granger." At her seat, a curious Hermione sat silent. "Very good. What I was going to say to you all that it was a pleasure having you here with me. I've learned a lot from you over the time you've spent here. In fact, I believe I know much more about you, than you now about yourselves."

Harry raised a thick eyebrow. Unblinking, Harry asked with a stammer, "Y-you do? I'm sorry, Mr. Ashby, but h-how is that possible?" Behind his own glasses, Ashby's eyes flickered.

"Mr. Malfoy," he said with a nod, "helped me out."

At once Harry spun around to meet Malfoy, who had not move since he'd brought himself into the room. Ashby's smile broadened at Harry's sudden movement and he sat back, gleeful to watch. He leaned back ever so slightly, and showed his yellowing teeth. Harry almost snarled, his green eyes flashing. "Of course he did. And what exactly did he tell you?"

Ashby said back with a smile, "well it seems like Mr. Malfoy's got a lot on his chest. He let me know much about himself, too, of course. Told me he has this persisting urge to make you pay for what you did to his family. Don't you feel that way, Draco?" Across the room, Malfoy hesitated, afraid of who to side with. However, he couldn't mask the immediate redness that overtook his entire face. An overwhelming soreness enveloped his entire throat. He kept his head perched downward and his sweaty palms bore down in his trouser pockets. "Do you feel that way Draco?" But when Malfoy didn't answer, Ashby only gave a mere shrug. "Mr. Malfoy's got some revenge issues, I'm sorry to say."

Harry was practically steaming. His fists crunched into little balls, he growled back, "revenge issues, huh?"

And, almost too happily, Ashby said, "I'm afraid so." Almost instantly a new gust of pain rushed through Malfoy's body and, wincing, he couldn't help moan a little as he stood there helpless. Raising an eyebrow, Ashby asked, "got something to share?" But once again Malfoy uttered not a word. "Hm," the man shrugged once again, "he'll come around to it, I'm sure."

However, Ginny started instantly forward. With a little frown, she leaned towards the glowing blue Pensieve across from her and inquired, "what's with this?" At once Ashby's face drained of color.

"Oh, that," he stammered. He waved his wand around and instantly the thing dimmed. The silver memory lifted from the water inside of it and floated weightlessly in the air to the vile at the Penseive's edge. "Was just doing some last minute research, is all," he answered, relieved that the group didn't press it. However, his intentions seemed to be cut short. His short fingers reached for the wand that sat waiting at the surface of his desk and, inching towards it, he said, "it seems, however, that I agree with Mr. Malfoy."

A nervous sickness swam inside Harry's stomach. "You... y-you agree with Malfoy?"

"Oh, very much so. However, I feel that he's mistaken on one thing... his family is not what I worry about. It is the fact that you, Mr. Potter, are still alive after all of this..." Harry instantly move from his seat. With wild motion he shot it aside and the weak thing whisked out away from him and clattered on the ground. His eager hands found his own wand and he whipped it out desperately with sudden anger. "Ah, ah, ah," he cooed with warning and, far too quick for Harry, he shouted, "_Expelliarimus!" _At once, the wand flew out from Harry's grasp and then Ashby started on the rest of the group. All together, their wands flew at the man and, chuckling, he caught them with a burst of happy triumph. "Now, now," he said, with his head still tilted, "you didn't let me finish."

But anger was boiling inside of Harry's heaving chest. "I'll kill you!" He shouted, but even before he could finish he was forced down on his knees, cringing in pain. When the spell passed, he looked back up, his face glistening with sweat. Ginny had fallen at his side, a look of panic about her own visage. George started forward but Ashby moved so horribly. He yelled out and the older Weasley was shot back across the room. His slender back hit the farthest wall and he slid down motionless.

Ron started forward when he noticed Ashby aim towards Hermione. But from the shadows a new figure moved. Mort had stepped out and showed his blank face. Stoney, he raised his own weapon as a warning. "Don't move," Ashby said, and his smile had faded. "Draco," he beckoned, "come." At Ron's side, the sweating Malfoy didn't move a muscle. On the floor, Harry looked up and saw as Ashby's wand raise once again. The point of it directed at Malfoy's chest, Draco moved as if on an mechanic belt. When he slid towards Ashbys side, he body gave a little twitch and he finally looked up, panting as if such an action cost him pain too severe to describe.

"Draco," Ashby said almost sweetly, "you look scared." With the end of his wand, he brought his steady wand under Malfoy's chin and practically beamed. "Don't be- it's almost over." But quivering, Malfoy was looking anywhere but back into Ashby's strong gaze. His gray eyes searched the table top for his own wand there; however he was in no such luck. Perhaps, of course, it was his own nerves that got the best of him; standing there shaking he could think of nothing other than finding his way away from the deranged therapist.

He straightened his posture, squared his jaw, and lifted a surprisingly strong hand to smooth back his stringy hair. "I'm not scared," he lied, "I'm just rather unarmed..." And then, with a stern voice he said, "may I have my wand, please. I'd love to take part in this a lot more than you know." At once strong hope surged through Ashby's body. Inhaling, he almost gleamed and, with instant joy, he turned towards his wooden desk and whipped open the drawer. His fingers grabbed Malfoy's wand that sat there waiting and he thrust it into Draco's chest as if he were honored. "Right," Malfoy nodded, and he stepped from Ashby's side and strode across the room with his hands behind his back.

"Well," he began, trying to remain steady, "Harry Potter." He smiled and tried to ignore Ron, who stood confused at his side. "I'd never thought I'd see the day..."

"I knew it!" Harry shouted, but he was quickly hushed. Ashby cursed him with such bitterness that it took much out of Malfoy to remain blank faced about the situation. "Malfoy," he choked brokenly, "you coward."

"Coward!" Ashby called from behind the blond, "oh, Mr. Potter, I'm not so sure of that one. Are you, Draco? Think you can prove him wrong?"

Harry's green eyes burned into Malfoy's gray ones. "Oh," Draco said back and his fingers gripped his wand fiercely, "I think I can prove someone wrong." Harry braced himself and Ashby's smile widened. However, his glee did not last long. The strong look that had been plastered on Malfoy's face almost completely melted away. He spun around and shouted, _"Expelliarmus!"_ Ashby's wand flew from his own grip and clattered across the room, far too distant from his reach. He didn't waste any time. He turned towards Harry and the others and his eyes found the now dim Penseive. "Run!" Harry shot up and Ron and Hermione almost stumbled on after him. Harry and Ron started for George and, dragging him from under the arms, they brought him to the Penseive's side with hefty desperation.

"The memory!" Ron shouted and Hermione tore it open, pouring the entire thing into the Penseive with fast hands. The memory hit the water and, on impact, the water lit up as if on fire. "Now!" At once they pushed themselves forward and felt the sucking sensation of being pulled inside of it.

There was a rush of air and they could hear Ashby curse wildly around them. Malfoy's screams filled their ears and then, there was nothing.

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Review! :)


	28. All of Our Demons

**Vonne:** Almost done with this! I hope you really enjoy the last few chapters, and please make sure to check out my new fiction, "Kicking the Bucket". It's a Draco x Hermione fan fiction, with loads of Snape! Thanks so much for all your attention in this fiction. I loved hearing from each and every one of you and I really hope you enjoy the ending of this as it comes closer and closer to it. Well, here is it, chapter twenty-eight. We are so close to the end, I can almost taste it!

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**Chapter Twenty-Eight:  
All of Our Demons**

Momentarily, the world seemed to stop and then the haze came about them instantly. Dark ominous clouds floated past, forming shapes of every different object that appeared in every corner around them. They sat there for several moments, coughing as they scanned the new scene around them. No longer where they standing in the middle of Ashby's office, but rather the top of the shady, dark Astronomy Tower at the top of their most recent school. Outside the windows, something bright flashed and they froze, realizing exactly where they were at that exact moment. Hogwarts school, only months before, was up in chaos. The disaster of the Battle exploded around them terrifyingly, and something outside the castle screamed a dead and longing cry of outrage. The blood ran cold through their veins and they stayed put, cluttered together with their perspiring backs toughing. Living it had been, of course, already a horror enough, but their revelation at the memory of the Battle, whomever it belonged to, was not a place they truly wanted to be.

In the dark, Harry's eyes found the long shadow across the room. George Weasley's lump of a body lay on the floor, unconscious and bleeding. His freckled face was covered in something grimy and his open mouth sputtered spit, snot, and blood. At his side, he heard Ginny gasp and she pushed herself away from the careful cluster. Ron was already up and at George's side to begin with, his own pale hands searching over his brother's face for a sign of life. He stiffened as his fingers greedily felt for a pulse and finally, when he located one, he slumped forward with one, big gracious sigh.

In the dark, Harry hyperventilated, his once determined fists now loose at his sides. His head drooped on his shoulders, his mouth dangling slightly open. His eyes whisked over from George to Hermione, to the insanity outside behind him. His breath occurred in fast pasted rhythms, his heart raced. Then finally, he sunk enthusiastically low and placed his hands on top of his kneecaps, defeated. His voice was sharp and sore as he spoke over the shake outside. He asked with full inquiry as if he'd just run several miles, "what just happened?"

Ron didn't make a move from where he sat, slumped over George with justified gratitude. Instead, he only shifted his chin on top of his brother's shoulder and said back, "exactly what Malfoy's been trying to tell you, actually." His voice held no tone of anger in it, in fact it was only tainted with desperation. When he let his statement sink in, he added, "Ashby's delusional. I don't know what his motives are, but from what Malfoy's let me in on, he's not up to anything involving our therapeutic progress." With that, he finally shifted himself, though only slightly. Still remaining protectively close to his dazed brother, Ron scooted away ever so slightly, but remained close enough to keep an eye on him. He let his hand linger on George's shoulder, which heaved up with one large unconscious moan. "I'm guessing we're in someone's memory of the Battle. But it's not mine. Besides, I never let Ashby near any of my memories."

Hermione gave one insightful little grunt. She strode forward away from Harry's back, rubbing a hand at the back of her neck. She considered the scene only for several moments before shifting to posture all on one side of her body. "Well, I know who this memory belongs to already."

Ron raised an eyebrow, curious. "Who?" he asked, watching her and nothing else. In the dark, her eyes were one of the only things clearly visible.

"Malofy's," she responded in a matter-of-fact sort of tone and before Ron could ask how she knew this for certain, she extended a finger out in front of her, revealing an unseen shadow in the corner of the tower. The thing there shook with child-like fear and it hid it's face at its knees. In the lack of light, only the shadow's hair was a clear giveaway; his blond locks were more or less unavoidable. Hermione approached it with care, though when she reached her hand out to brush Malfoy's shoulder, her hand only sunk through it. His shoulder burst away on impact in a gist of black clouds before regaining its shape as she backed off.

"He looks ill," Ginny observed and Harry's shoulders further sunk. Of course, Ginny Weasley's comment had been quite the understatement. Memory-Malfoy was shaking almost uncontrollably, admitting a strange sound that sounded like nothing more than a fit of estranged choking noises. His shoulders arched up with ever sob and then sunk lower when he gasped for air. A rather loud crack outside made him jump up and away from his position of hugging himself defensively. His heaving chest brushed his knees and his face lit up with the blaze of the fire outside. At the sudden sight of his face, Ginny made a suppressed sound that was both a mixture of disgust and sorrow.

The memory visual of Malfoy was bleeding rather profusely from his lip, and his left eye was puffy and swollen. There was a yellow and brown bruise around the exterior or his entire neck, but when he looked up, his eyes scanned the tower before he scampered to the ground and hurried to the window with a stagger. When he made it, he stood there for a moment scanning the scene, his breath matching Harry's own hefty panting. Another loud and thundering boom sounded outside and Malfoy spun around, pressed his back up against the stone wall and pressed his eyes shut. He groaned with a slight whimper and looked as if he were about to certainly collapse again. From her spot watching next to Harry, Ginny said, "what's Malfoy doing up in the Astronomy Tower during the Battle? Shouldn't he have been..." but she trailed off rather cluelessly. Where _should_ he have been? Truth of the matter was, she wasn't quite sure for herself.

Harry, however, shifted with interest. He squared his jaw and straightened his posture. "I know where we are," he said, and there was a bit of anxiety in his voice. "The memory," he said with a whisper, "this is the memory Ashby showed me during one of our sessions." And there was no mistaking it; Harry would never forget the scene of that very night about him, and even standing there in Draco Malfoy's nightmarish memory, he knew that this had been legitimate.

"So," Ginny said, her voice matching Harry's own solemn one, "the other memory was altered? Ashby altered the memory he showed you, then?" Harry swallowed and timidly nodded. He felt instantly embarrassed, but no one said another word as they watched the Memory-Malfoy's collapse once again to the floor, his knees slapping the ground with one hard echo. His broken cries echoed through the tower and he buried his pale face in the palms of his sweaty hands. This was not how Harry had been lead to believe Malfoy had spent his time during the Battle, not by a long shot. There was no trace of the murderous smile that Harry had seen so clearly on Malfoy's face. Rather, Harry saw nothing but a disheveled wreck before him, crying alone in the upper most room of his boyhood school. There was no determination about him, nothing even slightly equal to the boy Harry had thought he'd known- the one so like his father. Before him was something foreign, almost incomprehensibly obsolete.

In silence, they listened to Malfoy's memory of himself fall apart, neither of them daring to say a word. Until finally, when Hermione thought she couldn't take it anymore, managed to spin away from him and lock eyes with Harry, who had began a rather heavy sweat. "Wait," she said, tension rising in her voice as she tried to speak over Malfoy's loud sobs, "where _is_ Malfoy?"

Ron's voice was once again nothing but a stammer. "H-he came through with us, d-didn't he?" There was a drained look about his otherwise naturally white face. "I'm s-sure I f-f-felt him come though next to me." But when no one in the room opted to confirm, he asked out loud, "right?"

"Are you saying?" Hermione said, her own nerves rising in her voice, "that we _left_ Malfoy with Ashby?" Her hands flew up to her head, and he looked as if she were about to pull her own thick hair out of her skull. Her face flushed red with deprivation. Slumping forward, she breathed fearfully, "he doesn't have a _wand_! Oh no! He doesn't have a damn wand!" She glanced over at Ron for help, eyes swimming with concerned tears. "Ron," she breathed carefully, as if trying to compose herself, "Ron, you said Malfoy told you certain things about what Ashby had planned, right?"

Ron swallowed hard, wanting to sink back next to George and have his own sob for himself. Around him, Malfoy's were all he could hear. "Yeah," he admitted shakily, not wanting to admit how unsure he was still about the whole situation. But Hermione gave him no choice.

Anxiously, she asked, "what did he tell you? Does he have a plan?" The only thing he could do was shrug, and he had to; there was nothing more he truly knew about Malfoy's situation. At her boyfriend's helplessness, Hermione's short burst of hope disintegrated. She glanced over to Harry, who was standing still as if off elsewhere, and then sunk to the ground herself. "He could be _dead,_" she said hoarsely, "and we didn't trust him when we should have."

Not one voice in the room opted to comfort Hermione in her worries; they were all thinking the same thing. However, Ron tried out loud, "maybe he's someplace else... you know, wandering around his own memory?" However, before anyone could answer, a third crack made the Memory-Malfoy leap to his feet, huffing restlessly. His eyes flicked with determination. For a moment he scanned the tower and then stumbled back off, towards the door as he wistfully wiped at his eyes. He gasped a little when he swung open the door and began a quick descend down the steps. Harry's pulse doubled and he strode forward along with the memory of Draco, who remained oblivious to their presence. Noting the plan to follow down the stairs, Ron's attention flew to George, who he whisked up carefully, slinging his brother's arm over his own shoulder for support.

Hermione, who had stayed to grab George's remaining arm, wobbled down the steps with Ron, slow but with determination that was undoubtedly fast. They called down the steps for Harry and the others, but their calls were only returned by the slap of feet against the stone floors. A boom outside made Ron instinctively dunk and when he realized that the sound was only that from a memory, he tried to stifle his overwhelming embarrassment. Hermione, at his side, pretended not to notice and she looked around for any sign of Malfoy, whose absence was starting to weigh heavily on her guilt. "We should have stuck together," she said to no one but herself, and with that she let her head drop, falling rather silent.

When the two finally saw Harry and Ginny's frozen figures, a cold chill ran up their spines. Both Ginny and Harry stood perfectly still next to yet another figure, that of the Memory Draco Malfoy, who had stopped his running with a swift halt. His attention was brought to a sound emulating from down the hall around him, a girl's cry, that rung out hoarse and dry and sharp. The cry was desperate and choking and when she finally brought herself into view, even her appearance matched the horrifying sounds she pushed through her throat. But despite her disfigured and bloody face, Harry recognized her instantly. The girl from the memory he'd seen, Ashby's version of Harry's memory, was running straight at Malfoy, dripping with blood. Her eyes were wide and wounded and she staggered along the stone floor, her right leg cocked to one side, tweeked and probably broken.

"Help!" she coughed and a trail of bright crimson dripped from her mouth, "help! Please, help me!" Despite himself, Harry braced himself, half expecting Malfoy to off her as quickly and mercilessly as he'd done in Ashby's version. However, no such killing happened. The girl managed to bring herself to several feet in front of Malfoy before she collapsed to the ground at his feet, gagging morosely. Her dark hair covered half her face and her eyes swam desperately before Malfoy. At Harry's side, Ginny buried her face at her boyfriend's shoulder, pressing her own eyes shut fearfully. Harry didn't lift a hand to consult her, couldn't even manage to move himself. He stood watching Malfoy's memory of the scene as the girl coughed and spurred her desperate pleas up at Draco, who stared down at her, matching her terror. "Malfoy!" she cried, tears running down her face and streaking through her bloody cheeks, "please! Don't let me die here..."

Malfoy's chest rose and fell spastically, his blond hair lagging greasy on his head. He himself looked a mess, but he was focusing on anyone but himself at that very moment. He ran numb, couldn't quite feel his legs or his tightening chest. As he watched her, horrified, he could swear that he was about to keel over of a heart attack himself; wouldn't have truly minded if that were that case. However, Harry and the others only saw Malfoy physically, as he watched her, stunned still. He stared at her for long moments, eyes wide and fearful, before whisking his own wand out from his black blazer, once pressed and proper the thing was now falling loosely off one of his shoulders. Malfoy started off poorly to begin with. His stammer stopped the spell from going through, and only the tip of his wand sparked before proving positively useless. Anxious sweat poured off of Malfoy's forehead, frustrated tears burned in his eyes. He choked out loud as he tried again, _"V-Vulnera S-Sanatur! V-V-V-Vulnera S-San.. S-Santur!"_ At his feet, the girl had dropped lower, her own shoulders shaking. Her bright eyes were loosing their captivity as they rolled lifelessly back. Malfoy's chest quivered, and he recited the healing spell with bursts of horrible desperation.

She lunged forward, grabbing onto Malfoy's shirt, edging herself close up to his face by his tie. She had pulled him down to a bow and looked him in the eyes as a hefty amount of new blood poured from her mouth. In the dim light, Harry could see the smoldering hole in the middle of her chest; she had been cursed with something violent and undoubtedly fatal. Harry's stomach churned, but he knew he could not do anything to save her. Brought down to an uneasy bow, Malfoy watched the girl choke in front of him, tears rolling down his own face. She pleaded once again, "help me!" but it was with a sad and gloomy tone with which she asked, as if she could finally feel death advancing on to her.

"I'm sorry!" Malfoy said, though his voice was not sad and quiet. He spoke in a tone that was so desperate for forgiveness and acknowledgement. Hazy, his eyes scanned the girl's face, trying to spot some sign of sympathy, trying to spot anything there at all. "I'm so sorry," he tried again, but at this point, the girl was beyond understanding. She slipped down slowly, her fingers finally letting loose Draco's black shirt tie. Gasping suddenly, her fingers flew to her chest, as if to stop the bleeding, and she flopped forward once again. Draco's breathing was heavy and he straightened up, thrusting his wand out and trying over again, frustrated immensely with himself. The tears burned his eyes, and rolled down his own cheeks. With a cry that matched the dying girls', _"Vuln...nera Santaur! No!_ No..." she gurgled down on the floor, her body going slowly limp with every passing moment.

And then, her body flopped down uselessly with a soft thud before Draco heard her breathe her last breath. Now only his breathing echoed through the halls. He stood over her, flooded with disbelief, and then he doubled back, shaking his head back and forth uselessly. Tears poured down his pale face and he repeated over and over, "no! Come on! No... oh, no..." Shaking fingers gripped at his skull, interlaced through his blond hair. His eyes were wide with disbelief and he shook his head as if he would never stop. He looked at her as if he'd known her, but Harry was sure that Draco didn't. However there was such sorrow in his cry, such guilt for letting her die so uselessly.

"No..." Malfoy had not stopped saying it. The memory figure of him bent down low once again, as if he lightly brush her cheek, but a new sound around the corner made him reel back. He stumbled backwards over his own two feet and then, with great force, he whisked himself from the scene and pressed his back to the wall around the corner, holding his own breath, stifling his own sobs. But the noises had only been from a cluster of students, who ran past the body with screams, before dashing by towards their own safety. They past the anxiety-ridden figure of Malfoy unnoticed.

When yet another shadow appeared in the darkness, Harry and the others stiffened, waiting for the memory Malfoy to draw back in fear of being caught. However, the Memory of Malfoy didn't seem to notice this new figure. Both Ron and Hermione squinted and when there came another bright flash, the new figure finally came into focus. Draco Malfoy stood there in the hallway, shoulders dropped, horror painted all over his face. Any color left in it was impossible, the tip of his nose was beat red, and out of the corner of his mouth, a trickle of his own blood dripped to the floor like a leaky faucet. He didn't say a word, but instead dropped to his knees and inched forward with a relentless crawl.

"Malfoy," Harry said just as Ginny drew her face away from his shoulder. Harry watched Malfoy scoot over to the body of the girl, finally dead from the world. In the distance, the memory Malfoy's cries were loud and unmistakable, but the current Malfoy didn't seem to pay them any attention. He didn't look up and notice Harry as he inched forward, finally reaching the lifeless girl's side. When he got closer enough to her, however, he lunged forward as if to wrap his arms around her. When her body burst away in a cloud of black smoke, only to regain itself after Malfoy backed away, the blond boy gave a little sob and then curled up into himself, burying his pale head into the palms of his heads. "I..." Harry started, feeling himself break out in a hot sweat himself, "I didn't know... I thought... I thought you'd... Ashby..."

Malfoy remained utterly silent, seemed not to take any notice to Harry's struggle at an apology. Ron, however, inched forward from George's side and swooped down near the blond's. He wrapped his arm around Malfoy's shoulder and whispered in a low voice, "it wasn't your fault, you know. Malfoy, it wasn't you...."

At once Draco's head snapped up. His eyes blazed relentlessly as if he were about to pounce on Ron himself. "I let her die, Weasley!" he croaked, "and not just her... it's all my fault. I've tried so _hard_ to forget this night and the years leading up to it. I didn't do anything to stop any of this... I didn't..." Then Malfoy's face melted, putting on the expression of a wounded stag. His face contorted then he seemed as if he might indefinitely loose it. His fingers wiped at his face, which seemed to twist sadly with every loud sob. "I'm no different from the rest of them..."

Ron shook his head, his own shock of red hair falling slightly across his forehead. "No, Malfoy..." he started, though he was not used to the act of consoling anyone, had never been quite good at it in the first place. "You're not. You didn't kill anyone. This wasn't your fault. Even in the very beginning... y-you... you weren't given much of a choice, mate..." Malfoy's posture shrunk. He slumped forward and, with one last sob, fell silent. "Come on," Ron said, glad to be finished with his role as the comforter, "we got to get back to the center... we've got to get out of there." Then Ron scooted forward his long arm, waiting for Malfoy to take it willingly. Draco, however, stared up at Ron with a puzzled expression. He didn't instantly go for it, but the strangeness of his offer seemed to finally get to him. He lifted his own weak arm and took it limply, allowing Ron to pull him to his feet with an accomplished smile.

Hermione sniffed, despite herself, trying to sound strong herself. "It'll be alright, Malfoy," she said as Ron led Draco away from the body of the girl, a shadowy heap on the floor, "we all have our demons." Draco's eyes found hers and he instantly looked away, embarrassed when she shot him a pretty smile.

Ron stood, shifting in the uneasy atmosphere. Harry remained standing still, puzzled as much as heavily ashamed. There was a deep wind of determination that flowed through Ron at theat very moment, as he scanned his friends quickly. Clapping his hands, he gave a little smile, glad that they were all together, safe and, for the most part, unharmed. His eyes gave a little flicker as the echo of his single clap faded off along the walls of Draco Malfoy's nightmarish reality. "Alright," he said, anticipating an uproar, wanting to face Ashby one on one. He didn't need a wand anymore, the anger he felt towards the man he'd once trusted signified that he could surely do all the damage with his bare hands. "What's the plan?"

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**Vonne: **We are alllmooosttt there! Let's review, review, review! I have two more chapters left planned! Let me know what you think. Thanks so much! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Oh, and if any of you are wondering as to why some of the fictions have seemingly vanished... they have. I want to start over on a lot of them. I have done so on a few of them so far. Feel free to check them out!

Thanks a lot guys! Let me know what you thought of the chapter... I tried to make it extra long for you all! :)


	29. Fade to Black

**Vonne:** I am almost done. My plan as of right now is to make this the SECOND TO LAST CHAPTER. However, that all depends on how the next chapter goes and if I feel it needs one more chapter, though I don't think that that's how it will turn out. So, that being said, count on this being the second to last chapter. I hope you enjoy the climax. Please let me know what you all think. I'd love to hear all of your feedback.

So, here you all go... Chapter Twenty Nine, the "almost end", pretty much. I hope you all are pleased with it.

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**Chapter Twenty-Nine:  
Fade to Black**

Irwin Ashby was in an uproar. He couldn't think, couldn't even walk straight. Anger bubbled through him with throbbing integrity and as he paced, lights flashed about his eyes. His office was deserted, though his presence was undoubtable; his large and lingering shadow was cast up on the walls as a horrible reminder. White knuckles gripped tightly on his wand, so tight that they cracked, leaking bright crimson blood. He'd yelled every swear in the book and was now doing quite a number on his once quant little office. With each foul mouthed curse, he directed his wand at a piece of of his indoor furniture, sending it flying across the room into a cluster of previously destroyed ones. He now stood in a room in shambles, seething; teeth clenched and eyes blazing, he was almost given a heart attack when a tiny noise sounded out from behind him.

Mort was coming out of had and, admittedly, had been for a while though Ashby's obvious rage had kept him pretty oblivious to it. Tall and thin, Mort's shadow bobbed to the side loosely before his eyes gave one last flicker. His shaking hands flew up to his head, feeling it first to wipe off the sweat, and lowering it slowly as if he hadn't expected its clamminess. His brow fell and, trembling, his gaze found Ashby, who was preoccupied kicking the burning cushion of his once plump couch. He said slowly, "Irwin? What the hell..."

The therapist's shoulders only sunk and he stood there frozen for moments, watching Mort's shadow on the wall in front of him. Two things ran through his mind: he could kill the bastard, or keep his around for further use. "Well," Ashby began, still considering the pros and cons of each tough decision, "good morning, Mort. You've been asleep for hours." Mort's expression morphed. For a moment, he seemed to buy it, but when his eyes scanned the chaos that was Ashby's office, a new chill ran up his spine. Ashby wanted nothing more to put the man down like a common animal, wanted to finally put himself out of Mort's misery. In order to keep himself from doing so, he dug his grimy fingernails into the thighs of his trouser pant leg. "I think you'd better go back to sleep," Ashby added, and raised his wand once again before Mort could react. The slender man gave one more little grunt, and then his eyes were instantly void of consciousness.

Ashby's actions didn't satisfy him. He spun around, perhaps even more infuriated than before, and sent his scented desk candle twirling across the air with one more bitter flick of his wand. Thinking back on it, even at a time so recent, Ashby pitied his mercy, however knew that it was necessary. With Mort under the Imperius Curse, at least he could have something more on his side when he finally came in contact with Draco Malfoy, who's presence in Ashby's thoughts made his blood once again boil. How could he be so stupid? He'd been so gullible to fall for Malfoy's trick so easily; should have known better than to listen to a kid. Frustrated with himself, Ashby set the already steaming couch cushion on fire with yet another heated grunt.

Hopes crushed, Ashby made one single promise to himself. Because if Draco Malfoy didn't want these responsibilities and if Ashby could not convince him otherwise, there was only one thing he _could _do. In his head he made new plans to kill Malfoy, Potter, Granger, and all three Weasleys; a murder-suicide caused by Draco himself. Or, at least, that's what he'd tell the Ministry. He'd already had the Malfoy boy's wand and, over time, there would be no stopping him. Perhaps the Dark Lord of the new age would not be Draco Malfoy after all. As he watched his own reflection in the glossy window that was only just visible behind the thick drawn curtains, Ashby felt he was staring him right in the face.

Across the room, Mort gave one little subconscious moan. With a quick flick of his wrist, Ashby outed the blazing fire that turned his couch to ash. It sat in front of him, smoldering. Now plummeted into sure darkness, Ashby's breaths were loud and heavy in the unbreakable silence. However, a flicker of light now caught his wandering eye and finally a smile spread across Ashby's perspiring face. The Pensieve's glowing blue light twirled up in the air, twinkling in the shadow encrusted room. A quick breeze fluttered around the office and Mort's body slumped slightly as Ashby's attention was brought quickly away from it. The shimmer of the blue Pensieve dazzled him immensely, the light lit up his sweaty face with the navy tinted color and Ashby was sure that it was welcoming him...

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Draco Malfoy was having quite enough of this walking business, however it seemed to be absolutely the only thing that Weasley and the others insisted. "We have to keep on the move," they informed him idly as he lingered slightly off behind them, "Ashby's around here somewhere and we need to find him before your memory runs out." Of course, Draco had contributed with a few occasional nods when he felt it most appropriate, but commonly he spent the majority of their pacing with a staggering limp and a pout to match it. Malfoy wasn't feeling too keen, despite his displeasure with their mindless wandering. His head had been throbbing at the same pace as his fast moving heart rate and something told him that the two were pumping a little too quickly. Despite his internal discomfort, he sputtered blood from inside his mouth whenever he did deem it necessary to speak and so, consequently, he kept his mouth shut.

"Malfoy," Ron said with a mixture of encouragement and annoyance, "you've got to try and keep up, okay?" And even though he sported a supportive smile to go with his request, Draco couldn't help sending the boy his own sarcastic smirk in bitter response. However, he swallowed his pride and limped up close to Ron. "Thanks," Ron added at him once again and there was a friendly twinkle in his eyes. It wasn't something Malfoy had been admittedly used to- the warmth aspect of it all- and he decided he quite liked it overall. "And can you stay a little farther away from me, though, mate?" Ron whispered back, amused, you keep stepping on my heel."

Malfoy's smug grin melted and he said out loud, "fuck off, you doss prat," sending a massive amount of scarlet blood down the front of his shirt. He regained himself effortlessly, nonetheless able to take a joke, and sort of hopped to Ron's side, where he paced peering into the unconscious face of George Weasley, who hadn't made even the slightest effort of snapping out of his unplanned sleep. "So," Draco said again, his hands cupped over his mouth, "George passes out and gets a free ride, does he?" He was a bit too serious when he continued bitterly, "doesn't look like _he_ can't still use his feet!"

Ron crossed his eyes, waiting for Malfoy to ask one of the girls for a piggy back. Responding almost questionably too quickly, he suggested, "I could get Harry to levitate you upside down again. Would that help?" Draco's face went instantly white and, meekly, he watched Ron stride a little bit ahead of him. Malfoy's shoulders sank and he resisted the urge to accept; his feet truly were killing him.

"That wasn't what I had in mind, Weasley," he clarified, almost yelling across the Hogwarts hallway, "don't you lot have a broom or something?" Ron shook his head and Malfoy's face melted into that of a child. He huffed bitterly and tried to ignore the churning feeling in the pit of his stomach. Part of him wanted to remain quiet, but their mindlessness pushed away this unnecessary urge. "So, the plan is to wander around until we get sucked out of my own memory?" he asked the group, tossing his hands up in the air. None of them turned around, and he wondered if they would just leave him there, standing still with his hands upheld callously. "Tell me you have a better plan than that!"

They stopped, the lot of them. The uneasy joking about their situation wearing thin- no longer could they attempt to struggle their way out of it by banter. Malfoy in the distance let his hands drop to his sides, the terror in his face deepening. Their job was thick and intense and none of the lot made a move. "Well, then," Ginny was saying, as if standing in for Harry, who had been keeping oddly quiet throughout their long walk, "what do you have in mind?" She didn't truly ask in a derogatory way, however, in a mannerism that was hopeful for an answer. "We need to find a way out of here, don't we?" Ginny Weasley's freckled face fell. "I mean, it's your memory."

"Yea, well," Draco's blood was boiling with frustration, "that was it. I swear I...I..." at once, the blond grew rather sheepish. He averted his eyes from the rest of the group and cast them upon the stone floor. The memory version of him had been long gone and only the mental image of him running, as if for his life, was truly present. "I didn't do much after what you've seen. I... pretty much stayed put." That much, of course, was true. Malfoy had, in fact, stayed rather put after his ordeal during the battle, though he managed to leave out his stay hidden from the rest of the school.

His finish was met with a stroke of awkward silence. Each pair of eyes averted to the ground and even Harry found his face flush in embarrassment for Draco. "Right, well," he brought himself to say, still staying the farthest away from Malfoy, "we need to figure out _some_ way out of here. This isn't like any Pensieve I've explored before. Usually once the memory's finished... you're out of there." He lifted a hand up and itched at the back of his neck, reddening it. Once he'd said what he needed to, he looked back at his feet and fell once again silent, hoping Hermione would pick up where he'd left off.

Luckily, Hermione had been stirring for quite some time. She paced against the floor, finally leaning her back up against the wall. "Well, Harry," she said, rubbing at her pointed chin, "in some instances..." hastily, she paused, considered it, and then shook her head unconvinced, "no... it couldn't be."

Ron's face fell. Flushed, he hissed, "Come out with it."

"It's rare," Hermione continued, "but in some cases- oh, Gosh, hardly ever- in _few_ cases the exit of a Pensieve requires the owner of the memory to fully accept the moment." She looked up at this, locking her brown eyes straight into Draco's gray ones, "sort of as a... mental and physical way of moving on."

Ginny brightened up, watching as Ron set George down on the floor, their older brother's body heaving with sleep at the soft impact. "So," she said with sheer excitement, "you think that's it? Malfoy has to just accept this moment in time? Accept this memory and we're out of here for good!" Ginny looked around vibrantly at the other group and then, finally, seemed to get the point with a stroke of sad recognition. "Malfoy," she said, soothingly to the boy for the first time in her life, "do you think you can let go? Just this memory..."

But all Malfoy could think about was the dead girls face, screaming in his mind. He could almost literally feel the grip of her knuckles on the front of his shirt. He could feel her hypothetical blood leaking through the front of his shirt. It wasn't just her, but her death was the finishing touch on his life's guilt trip. He didn't stop her death... couldn't but didn't. It was the same for all the others, every last one of them. George Weasley, as he heaved in his sleep on the floor, reminded Malfoy of his twin, dead and gone and Draco sure didn't do anything to prevent such a thing.

"I..." he stammered, because he probably wasn't fit to speak in a clear tone anyways, "I can't..."

"Please," Ginny stammered on her own, tears running in her eyes now. She'd caught the way he'd looked at George, almost practically knew what he'd been thinking. However, there was no bitterness in her chest. Despite herself, she found that she was feeling strangely sympathetic. There was a tenseness in her throat, as was in Malfoy's. Mournfully, she struggled to keep it down. "Ron," she whispered under her breath, watching Draco's face absolutely melt, "do something."

"Malfoy... Draco." Ron stepped forward, finally away from George, "that girl's death... it wasn't your fault."

Hermione, at the back of her boyfriend, said with sincerity, "Ron's right, Draco," and there was a earnest tone in her voice that she truly hoped Malfoy would notice. "You're not a bad person. You were just brought up the wrong way and..."

However, Maldoy cut the two of them off, hissing like a snake. His cold eyes were ablaze and his chest was heaving up and down faster than he'd thought even physically possible. His face was ghostly pale and the tip of his nose bright red. There were reluctant tears brimming in his eyes and he wiped them away with a quick swipe of his sleeve across his face. "You have no idea, Granger!" he spat and then turned to look at Ron, "Weasley! I could have stopped it, could have stopped it all. It's not just her death... it's..." at once, the boy's sudden rage seemed to vanish. He sunk a bit lower and his posture was instantly sloppy. His eyes moistened, but he didn't bother to whisk his tears away so quickly. "It's... Professor L-Lupin's and the T-Tonks'. It's Moody's and Creevey's and Charity Burbage's..." his voice snapped at the last one, his vision sparkling with sad memory. "C-Crabbe." An overwhelming tenseness shook in his throat. He felt an enormous amount of knives scrape at the edge of his stomach. He was dizzy with sickness and he found himself still rambling despite himself. "And Snape..."

The last one seemed to linger heavily on him and he burst out in more aggressive tears once he'd spit it out. He'd been over and over Snape's death multiple times in his head; he should have seen what was happening with Snape- should have figured out what side he was on from the beginning. Then he could have done something... perhaps even helped him convince the others and then keep him ultimately away from Voldemort. His mind buzzed, fuzzy with emotion. Then he found himself once again gazing on George's unconscious body, as it rose and fell. "Fred's..."

Ginny's face was streaked with tears of her own, her eyes as red as Hermione's, who had been crying much longer than she had been. Harry's posture fell and he felt his own burst of guilt about him. He should have known- Draco had his own demons, just like he had. For so long he'd seen him as only a Death Eater, and never anything more. He mentally cursed his own prejudices, but allowed Ron to once again take the lead. Despite this, however, Harry felt his own anger boil up in his chest, though managed to keep rather quiet. Ron, however continued forward. "Malfoy," he coughed, on the verge of sobbing himself, "you didn't cause any of that... "

"I could have stopped it!" Malfoy snapped.

"No, you couldn't have!" However, it was no Ron who spoke out. Harry had finally stepped from the group of them, his eyes serious behind his glasses. "Don't you get it? You couldn't have stopped it even if you tried. What, do you think you could have overpowered your own _father?_ Voldemort?" There was an immense amount of fury bubbling up inside of him, directed straight at Malfoy, not for what he'd done, but for what he'd thought himself possible of doing. Because for so long he, Harry, had made that very same mistake. He found that he was moving forward towards Malfoy without realizing it and he was saying, "I've thought the same thing all of my life!"

Malfoy shot back at him through harshly clenched teeth, "at least you _tried_."

"And you did, too.. in your own way. I don't have a crazy father, either."

Malfoy's face twisted. His guts twisted mercilessly, forcing him to ignore his blistered feet. In his head, everything seemed to go fuzzy. There was a pain that was almost unbearable and, all joking aside, he probably did need some serious medical help. He blurted out to Harry bitterly, "don't you dare disrespect my father..." before he didn't think he could manage to finish his sentence. His head spun; this wasn't happening. No way could Ashby be controlling his health now- not with him so far away....

And then he saw it; out of the corner of his eye, he saw the tiny spectacle that he knew he truly didn't want to see, the dark figure that he knew had been just dying to cause him this severe pain. The shadow was grave and unmistakable. It stopped him mid-sentence. He didn't want to fight around anymore, didn't want to pass back and forth witty conversations with the others. Because the sight of Ashby's shadow made his blood run cold. He let out a little gasp, frozen in the blackness, and felt the shape edge of his own wand point as his bare neck. "Don't you dare move," Ashby's voice said and he watched the others completely freeze along with him. At his back, Ashby was breathing loudly, his face red and perspiring with furious sweat. Upon his lips, a long sneer graced his face.

"You slippery bastard," he accused, poking the tip of his wand deep into Malfoy's neck, practically bruising it. "You think you can get away from _me?_ Not a chance... Mort!" From the shadows Ashby's tall assistant stumbled blindly. His eyes were glazed over as if intoxicated, and he seemed to look through eyes that truly weren't seeing a thing. Between his fingers, he held Harry's own wand out in front of him. "You lot don't want to settle things the easy way, then, do you not? Well, then you're all going to have to do it the hardest way possible. Hm?" Ashby reached out, grabbing Malfoy's thin shoulder and spinning him around angrily, "So, Draco, perhaps I'll be your therapist again once you're sent off to Azkaban."

"Yeah," Ashby continued hysterically, "that's what'll become of you once the Ministry finds every one of your little mates dead, including Mort, thanks to Mr. Malfoy, gone mad with depression and guilt. And then there's me, the sole survivor of your murderous rage, because I found you there, standing over each and every one of their bodies, ready to put an end to _my_ life, as well." At this point, there was a flicker of pride behind Ashby's horrible sight. He spits, "but I am too quick for you. And I temporarily put you out of your misery- having been _forced_ to use the Cruciatus curse on you- before you're sent off to Azkaban for good."

Malfoy's voice broke. "Why don't you just kill me?" he asked, red.

Ashby's smile broadened, "or we could just do that..." he lifted his wand and opened his wide mouth, however, it was another sound that made him spin around vastly, rather than his own.

"NOW!" Harry began off in a full sprint, heading straight towards Mort like a raging bull. He came in contact with Mort much quicker that he'd even expected and when he ran into him, the man almost fell over too easily. There came a furious roar from Ashby, who had pushed Malfoy out of his way, sending him colliding to the ground with a harsh thud. His sights were now set on Harry, who searched frantically for his wand, still lingering between Mort's loose fingers. "_Expelliarmus!"_ Harry shouted, but Ashby knocked his curse away with quick determination.

Harry picked himself up off the ground, hurried and rather out of breath. When he pulled himself to his feet, his legs were uneasy and week and, stumbling to a standing point, he lunged forward, shooting spells at Ashby left and right. Mort, on the other hand, lay still, as if the fall had indeed ended his ignorant life. "No!" Ashby shouted, roaring with fury. His eyes swam with even more desperation that before and with each lunge forward, he intended to murder.

Ginny and Ron scrambled to George and Hermione scooted off in the direction of Draco, who had hit the floor and failed to redeem himself. A new fountain of blood leaked from the side of his head and when he looked up at her, he seemed to be quite heavily gone. "Malfoy," Hermione cooed, wrapping her hands underneath his armpits and heaving him up to a stand, "Malfoy, you got to snap out of it. You've got to help us get out of here..."

Over the loud screams of Ashby, Harry bellowed, "Malfoy, you've got to move on!"

Ashby cried out, "_Avadra Kedavra!"_ and the shot missed Harry but only inches.

"Malfoy," Hermione was saying to him, her voice straining with urgency, "please."

In his own head, he could sense that he was probably about to die, could feel the cold chill of pain creeping up on him. Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy, they called out to him, and he even wanted to scream at himself. "I can't!" He called back, but mostly in the direction of Harry, who slammed himself behind a rather towering stone pillar.

"No!" Ashby yelled, spinning around to meet Malfoy for the second time. "Silence! _Crucio!_" This time, however, he didn't miss. The stroke of light came in instant contact with Malfoy and he slipped from Hermione grip. Malfoy fell to the ground on his side, curling up against himself with his own desperate moans. His chin, bleeding at the harsh impact, scraped against the stone floor. At once Hermione fell to his side, though only could sit helplessly, her cheeks trailing with wet tears. Then Ashby spun back to Harry, his eyes wild and merciless. "Potter!" he cried, and he stalked forward with a growl.

Malfoy's cries mingled in with Hermione's. His back arched up involuntarily and when he hit the ground again with a thud, he opened his eyes to the view of his memory, spinning out of control before him. "Malfoy," Hermione whispered, lowering her head to his cheek. She grabbed his head, pulled him away from the view of Ashby and Harry before him, willing him not to look. "just let go." She choked back more tears, "just l-let go..."

But struggling against himself on the ground, Malfoy could only mutter, "C-can-n't..."

"You can!" Harry roared, much too loud over Ashby's horrified screeches. "Dammit, Malfoy you have to let _go! _Just let go!" And while he couldn't mask the bitter anger in his voice, he could tell that he was undoubtedly getting through. "You can't go on your entire life trying to turn back time for your own sake. Accept what you've done with your life and.... and..._ better_ yourself from it." At that, Harry could feel the own deep meaning behind his words, probably even the words that he needed to hear all along. Just as Malfoy needed to move on, he did, as well. Accept the months' past events, better himself from it. In a meek little voice, he said quietly, "just... move on."

Malfoy let out a long heavy breath, pressed his eyes shut tightly.

There was a bit of a rumble all around them and once again Ashby's yell sounded through the hall with an echo. He shouted, _"Avda Kedvra!"_ and at once, all went utterly black.

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**Vonne: **REVIEW!! :)


	30. High Hopes Higher

**Vonne: **Finally here it is! The very last chapter of 'High Hopes Down'. I'm so glad all of you have been following this from the very beginning- thirty chapters ago. Wow! I can't believe it... that was thirty chapters. Well, my only hope is that this ends the way you want it to. I've had it planned in this way somewhat recently, which is really why it's taken me so very long to even update. I was trying to think of a significant way to end this all.. something suspenseful but something that (I hope) was completely worth the thirty chapter read.

Well, I really do hope that you are all satisfied with the ending of this. Please let me know how you felt. I really would love to know what you all think of the ending, which I worked really hard on. I also tried to make this one a bit longer than the rest... so hopefully that will also serve as a little something extra for all of you! (Wanted to make it somewhere- or close to- five thousand words. Just to top this whole fiction off, of course!)

Anyways, here it is... this is it, everyone! The final chapter.

Chapter thirty!

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**Chapter Thirty:  
High Hopes Higer**

Draco was sure it was over-- positive, could even feel the life rush out of his body before making absolutely certain of it.

Was this it?

Was this what dying felt like?

A deadbeat flicker passed through his consciousness. His heavy eyes remained closed and for a moment he thought he was floating before the numbness subsided and he felt the grizzly carpet against his sore cheek. Then his mouth fell open, tasting nothing but liquid iron. Crimson blood oozed from his lips and he stared temporarily at the carpet below him as the red fluid collided with the fabric. His quivering hand flew up to his face, felt the chilliness of it. Covered in perspiration, aching all over, he checked to see if for certain he had a pulse.

The lot collided with a heavy thud. A rather sloppy mess, he blinked two burning eyes, waited for his vision to clear itself once again. A coughing noise erupted from the depths of his throat and he lifted himself halfway up, even if just barely. His eyes adjusted to the sight of bodies sprawled out around him. Flopped on top of one another, the lot of his group lay like corpses in the center of Ashby's messy office room. Hermione's swollen face came first into view, blood just barely trickling out from the corner of her skull. Harry's leg was cocked around her lower back, his shoulder bent in an admittedly curious position. Draco's mouth ran instantly dry, despite the blood that filled it. Was he the only survivor? The though of it made tears come to his eyes and the rumbling Penesive behind him made his guts churn. They didn't have much time. Ashby would be back any moment now, perhaps prepared to ultimately end them all...

But whom had he hit? Furthermore, did Draco truly have to stomach to go and find out for himself? Sitting half hoisted upwards, Malfoy's hand extended out longingly, prepared to check Hermione's bruised neck for any sign of a lingering possible pulse. He held his havering hand above her skin, uneasy at the thought of another person dead on his behalf. Swallowing, he tried to ignore the rather large lump in the core of his throat, desperately tried to will away the knot that tightened mercilessly in his stomach. He held his pale fingers in the air for a moment and pressed his eyes forcefully shut. "Malfoy, are you alright?" Harry's voice cut through the tense air like a sharp knife. At once Malfoy's hand whipped away; he spun around, blinking rapidly, and nearly fumbled over at the shock of Harry's tone.

"A-are they..." Draco managed to spit, but he couldn't bring himself to finish the rest. He'd never could have cared less before but now, something was oddly different. Perhaps what was left of grade school Draco had gone. Maybe he truly wasn't a Death Eater, truly wasn't his father...

Harry's voice was hoarse and bitter, but he crawled forward saying clumsily, "I don't think so." Without hesitation, he plummeted his hand on Hermione's neck, felt a quiet pulse, and leaned back with relaxation. Malfoy's attention was drawn to the large blood bubble that was blistering at the corner of Harry's eye. His neck was black and blue and at the edge of each of his elbows, a large fountain of his own blood pooled down the length of his shaking arms. However he moved on by Draco fairly quickly, once again away from the light. Crawling on his hands and knees, he wobbled towards Ginny, letting out a large sigh of pure relief before further moving on.

Malfoy proved to be less help. He couldn't, for the life of him, manage to move his body. His limbs ached and throbbed and forced him to remain rather inevitably put. Stinging eyes followed Harry as he made his rounds, wrapping his fingers around Ron's shoulders and shaking him slightly. In a whisper, Draco heard Harry whisper to his long time friend, "come on, Ron, we haven't got much time." Surprisingly, Ron's mouth dropped open. He groaned, tossed over, and lifted his head, looking a bit dazed, but nothing more than if he'd just come out of a rather deep sleep.

"What's happened?" He asked Harry, lifting himself up and flopping back down with a taste of failure. Unsuccessfully he tried again, slightly knocking aside George who only groaned tiredly next to him.

Harry pulled Ron up from the ground, yanking him to his knees where the two met rather hastily eye to eye. "We're in Ashby's office." He reminded the red head swiftly, "Mort's dead. I think Ashby's curse missed but, like I said, we don't have much time. We've got to get out of here. Ashby's going to come through the Penesive any moment now." Ron's head whipped up, eyes searching the room before they landed on Malfoy with a strikingly severe glance. They made subtle eye contact before Malfoy let his eyes fall, watching the blood drool from his chin to the front of his white shirt, forever staining it. "Can you grab Hermione? I think I can get Ginny..."

"N-no need." Someone nearest Harry whipped up, her own bit of red hair rather apparent in the lack of light. Tears flooded down her pale face. Her cheeks were shockingly red, but otherwise she appeared rather kept. Her unkempt hair stood like stale straw on the top of her throbbing skull and to signify her health, she lifted a rather steady arm. "I'm okay, Harry." Harry's chest fell, his face falling with relief. Sincerely he looked as if he could break out in tears and, leaving Ron with sudden determination, he crawled over towards Ginny, brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, and took it in his bleeding hands. The two stood like statues and Harry pressed his forehead down on Ginny's shoulder, nuzzling it before allowing her to gently push his hair from his face and pull him to his feet.

Ron was up, his own hands around Hermione's cheeks. To his luck, she stirred, blinked roughly, and opened her eyes to come face to face with him, his nose almost absolutely touching hers. He brought her face up to his greedily, pressed her lips to his, and whipped her up with such greed that Hermione almost stumbled on impact. "Careful, Ronald," Hermione scolded, though she couldn't deny letting her fingers run through his hair, which dripped of sweat. Across the room, George's body gave a slight stir and Ron's hands slipped from Hermione's once again approaching his brother's figure.

"Georgie..." he panted, softly tapping the side of his chilly face. "Come on George, you've got to wake up."

"No time, Ron," Harry started, his voice urgent and rushed. "We've got to get out of here." With that he strode forward, gripped the very bottom of George's thin ankles, and nodded to Ron to grab under his brother's arms. Obliging, Ron took George's upper torso in his palms, biting his own bottom lip with the weight of it. "Let's go..." they wasted no time, staggered towards the door and pushed it open with their backs. Only Malfoy remained put, staggering up to a standing point of his own on a pair of unsteady arms. He pushed himself up with the use of the overturned desk, remembering how only days ago Ashby would sit across from him, using him for a plan on his own.

His feet dragged along after them, a hazy perspective taking over his mind. Somewhere ahead of him, Hermione said abruptly, "our wands..."

Harry spun around, drawing out his own, which had pulled through Draco's memory along with him. "_Accio wands!_" he shouted, aiming the tip of his own at Ashby's desk drawer. At once the remaining of the wands emerged from the desk and flung through the air in all directions. Ron caught his and George's and Ginny was swift with hers. At the sight of his own wand flying back towards him, Malfoy fumbled and took to the ground to retrieve it once more. "The forrest..." Harry panted, "... it couldn't go too far." He hoisted George up higher, pushed the stray hair away from his face with a quick brush of his shoulder. However, something new gave a timid stir. From the depths of the dark office, the Penseive lit up with the impact of something oncoming.

"Hurry," Ginny breathed, and she led the way down the hall, walking as fast as her feet could carry her. However, the lot of them were moving too fast. Malfoy's own shaking legs were only just useless and possibly broken. The sprain he felt in his ankle struck him with ever pressuring lunge forward. He bit his bottom lip, tried more than anything to grin and bare it. He used the stone wall for support, walked as if he was new to the subject. And the lingering view of Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and George began to untimely blend in with the shadows.

His breathing grew slow, scarce and loud. He managed, despite himself, to stumble through the hallway, meet their backs in the emerald garden. His watering eyes scanned the center's backyard and he extended his feet. A shot of instant pain barred straight through his very bone. Along the dewy grass, he kept himself going, didin't even bother to swipe away the leak that had almost doubled at his mouth. "Malfoy!" He was sure someone called, and he pressed forward, watching the trees seem to near him with every step. Back into the forrest again and all he could feel was the rush of cold air come on to him.

Perhaps this was what death truly felt like; curseless, pathetic death. The question was, did he feel it? Did he feel death? And the answer was undoubtedly: yes.

At once he broke through, following behind like a lost child. His hands grazed each tree trunk for support, his natural walkers. Above him the sky was clear and overcast, considerably dark for the current time of day. He reckoned it was sometime around six in the morning, through the clouds kept him impossibly unsure of it. Although, he couldn't be certain about what his eyes presented to him in the first place. Each lingering visual appeared as if only ghosts; pestering shadows that lunged out at him and morphed together in one big hazy blur. Hermione's voice called out, "Please, Malfoy! Please hurry!"

She was desperate, but so was he. More than anything he wanted to pick up his pace, to hurry along and not draw them back. But he couldn't help it; something was not right. Something was horribly, horribly wrong.

"Draco."

But this next call wasn't one of desperation. It was a rather soothing beckoning, considering the already previously urgent ones. When Ashby's voice broke through the trees, Malfoy could do nothing but freeze. His knees instantly gave way and his hand slipped from the bark of the tree. In segments his torso hit the ground that was the forrest floor, crashing on to the leaves with a broken up fall. Malfoy's blurred vision saw the lot of them vanish, unaware that he had so helplessly fallen behind. As their figures faded into the distance, Malfoy heard Ashby crouch by his side; the leaves crunching at the heavy pressure of the therapist's forceful weight. "You don't look so well, Mr. Malfoy." Ashby said, with a hazy smile of his own, "if you don't mind me saying."

Even through the uneasy vision of his own eyes, Draco could see the weariness behind Ashby's face. His glasses were bent and broken, hanging loosely at the bridge of his nose. A trail of his own red blood dripped from the side of his head, drooling down his face and on his shoulder where it touched his nice blazer. His lips glistened with salvia, much like Draco's own, and his nose was bright red despite the whiteness that almost emulated his entire face. Without his fauz visage, Ashby looked rather much like a deranged old man, middle aged and not exactly sane. In fact, he resembled much of a mad man, rather than a therapist for himself. The buttons of his shirt were half undone, and the shoulder of his jacket hung loosely off his rounded shoulder. When he spoke, a bubble of blood burst from the corner of his small mouth, popping quickly as he laughed insanely.

Ashby tutted, shaking his head rather slowly back and forth, "they've left you now, Draco. It's just you and me. Well, half of you... you don't look all there." He leaned forward, brought his bloody lips to Draco's ear, "can you hear me?" Malfoy's eyes fluttered backwards, he could feel the pain in the core of his feet as it rose up to his hips and shot up through the rest of his body. His lower back throbbed and the buzzing inside his head doubled. "Think I forgot about _that," _Ashby said with a wicked smile, "ah no. Not at all, my boy. I can still make you hurt. Wanna see?" All at once Malfoy's body exploded with sincere shots of electricity. His body felt as if caught on fire. Burning, seething, aching sensations.

He thought of fire.

Ash.

Nothing but charred black charcoal.

Ashby's laugh was nervous and slightly unsure of himself. When he finally permitted Draco's body to relax, his own body did the same, only then happy with the job he'd done with disturbing it. "Thought I was lying, huh?" His fat hand patter Draco's sore shoulder, made him yelp before he himself took a rather comfortable kneel at Draco's side. "I'm going to kill you," he told him, "you know, I was going to do it the very moment I caught up with you again, but I think I don't need to. You're dying on your own. Right here... right now."

Draco's head throbbed on the ground, watched the blood flow from his mouth, saw that there was more at the corner of his own head. Ashby pressed his hand on Draco's leg, watched Malfoy's body writhe up and yelp from the severe pain of it all. But Draco couldn't lift himself up; his hands were too shaky, too weak. Poking into his ribs, he felt the harsh tip of his wand.

"How does it feel, Draco?" Ashby whispered, slightly fascinated by the sight of Malfoy's suffering. With each moan, Ashby's mouth twitched up higher into a standing smile, sly and content. "How does it feel to die so early?"

"You think that I need you, don't you? You think that I can't do this without you? I don't need you. Once I kill you, I'll have other uses for you. Maybe your slippery friends will get away, but I'll sleep peacefully, even if in Azkaban, knowing that you are six feet under, rotting in your fucking coffin." A new look of bitterness overtook him. His eyes flickered with resentment. He looked as if he could inch forward, wrap his fingers around Draco Malfoy's bruised neck, and strangle him then and there. However, he waited, sure that in due time, Malfoy would forever breathe his last hazy breath.

Draco's otherwise blank mind buzzed. Ashby was probably right; he could feel himself forever fading. His heavy eyes rolled backwards at every passing moment. He felt utterly nauseous as he swallowed bitter blood. But one thing remained on his mind: the wand. The wand that nudged him eerily was his main focus alone. Ashby's words blended into nothing but child-like mumbles. His crumbled hand inched toward it, his fingers drawing him near it like the legs of a tiny spider. His numb fingers wrapped around it loosely, bringing it out from underneath his body as slow as possible. He brought it to the edge of his stomach, waited for Ashby to near him even more, prepared himself for whatever. And then Ashby lurched his plump body forward, pierced his nails into Draco's shoulders and then smoothed up gently around his slender neck. "You know," he said timidly, "I was going to wait, but I think even Mother Nature wants to kill you slowly. Too slowly, I'm afraid, for my taste."

A second bubble of blood burst from his lips as he said, "goodbye, Draco Malfoy." His hands grabbed around Malfoy's neck instantly, wandless and determined. Grinding his teeth forcefully, his fingers squeezed the surrounding of his skin, ready to snap his neck completely. And Draco felt his entire mind go blank. His fingers began to slip from around his wand. He was choking against the force of Ashby's fingers, blood coughing up from his lips. But, frustrated and desperate, Ashby whipped Draco around to his front in one hasty motion. The notion of the swift movement made Malfoy's mind even more the object of blur. He could feel himself loosing consciousness with every moment, his eyes rolling back into the depths of his heavy skull.

But the sudden motion jolted him upright for only a moment. His fingers once again tightened, raised his shaky arm up. And, perhaps due to the pure shock of it, Ashby stumbled back, his fingers flying off from around Draco's neck. He fumbled with one hoarse gasp and Draco whipped himself up, ignoring the bittersweet head rush. His breath was short, his mind still running away from him. Things around him began to fade mercilessly; trees began to slink away and maybe this was it. Annihilation. Demise. The end. Ashby was peddling backwards away from him, like a crab, scuttling on by the palms of his hands. Blood dripped from the side of his head and there was ample fear flooding behind his eyes.

And he shouted with the only breaths he hand left, "_Avada Kedavra!" _

But Draco didn't get the time to watch and check if he'd indeed hit him. His body finally gave out, his eyes rolling back completely. With a sway, Draco's body went absolutely loose and he fell forward once again, back onto the ground, back into the earth.

_

* * *

_

Draco Malfoy felt someone place a warm hand on his forehead, rub it gentle, and wipe away the stray hair that had fallen over his eyes. His body felt light and weightless, as if he were only just floating. Was this it? Was this Heaven?

"So, how's he doing?" No. Couldn't be Heaven. Draco Malfoy's Heaven did not involve an eternity with Harry Potter.

"He'll be alright, Mr. Potter," an unfamiliar voice said, adjusting something that had been poking him in the side of his arm. He no longer felt weightless. The soreness of his body was now undoubtedly present. However, he waited before allowing himself to open his eyes, and lay completely still, feigning sleep. "He just needs some rest. Has a minor concussion, a broken leg, and a couple of fractured bones. But we'll get him fixed up soon enough."

Ron's steady voice came through the massive amount of jabber. He lunged forward in his seat; Malfoy could hear the rustle of the cushion below him, "well, let's hope it's soon enough."

"Mr. Weasley, your reputation of impatience proceeds you, I see." At this Ron flushed, leaning back and allowing himself to scratch his head rather nervously. Hermione wrapped her arm around her boyfriend, leaning her head on top of his. She shut her eyes, kissing the top of his skull, and then lifted back up, to playfully slap the side of his arm, tossing him a look that said nothing but a sweet, "I told you so."

"I think you'll all be alright in here for a moment, huh?" The unfamiliar voice said again, making her way towards the door. She was, outside of Draco's shut eyes, a rather tall nurse, who beamed at the lot of them, despite her previous teasing. "Let me know if you need anything." Then she paced away from them and brought herself to the door, opening it and letting herself out with a swift exit. Malfoy's eyes flickered open, half expecting the room to be completely empty, and slightly grimaced at the sight of Harry, Hermione, and Ron at the side of his bed, all seated in cushioned seats as if completely expecting him to wake up at any passing moment.

Ron leaned forward, opening his shut eyes instantly. He'd been letting his hand run up and down Hermione's long arm, but at Draco's sudden arousal, he froze, a pleased smile crossing over his freckled face. "About time, mate!" he said goofily, his lip busted and rather swollen, despite his urgent bit of glee. However, other than his bright grin, Ron looked that of a complete mess. His free arm was wrapped in a sling and there was a rather tight bit of gauze taped stiffly around the circumference of his forehead. The batted flesh around his blue eye was black and blue and unbelievably puffy.

Malfoy's own frown remained undoubtedly present. "What happened?" He asked the ceiling, not desiring to look at what he new to be his own mess of a face.

Harry spoke this time, a little bit too proud for his own good. But despite his bruised exterior, he looked furthermore pleased with Malfoy, as well. "You got him, actually," he said toothily, "not to say you didn't take a beating of your own, though. You killed him." Draco's head spun, though this time with ambition. He'd got him. He'd killed Ashby, first and foremost. It was completely over.

"Killed...?"

"Yeah," Ron beamed even wider, "and this time, it was actually your doing." Draco couldn't help himself. He felt his throat tighten, his eyes swell with tears. Despite not being able to quite feel the rest of his body, there was no more pain. Ashby wouldn't be able to cause him to feel any of it any more. He was once again happy to hear his heart beat, all too pleased to breath without any struggle. It felt strange but freeing all at the same time and as he lay there he realized it was the first time in a long time that he'd actually felt glad to be alive. The first time in a long time... long before he'd even met one Boyce Ashby.

Hermione spoke in a meek tone, seemingly having lost quite a bit of her voice. "We didn't realize we'd lost you. We're so sorry..."

Draco cut her short, not bringing his eyes away from the top of the building. "It's okay."

Hermione's frown uplifted, her own eyes slightly swelling. "You know," she said, sweeping a strand of brunette hair away from her face, "you're really not a bad person. I can tell. You really have changed."

"Thanks," Draco's voice was broken and segmented. When he said it, he felt his throat tighten and a bit of weight lift off his once heavy shoulders.

But Harry was the one twiddling with his fingers. He looked from Hermione to Ron and then cast his focus back on the tile floor of the hospital. For a moment he felt a flush of embarrassment, but decided not to be prideful. "You did exceedingly well, Draco. And... and I'm sorry I didn't believe you. I--"

Malfoy shook his head, back and forth against the pillow. His lips were pressed together tight and the redness was now clearly visible in his glossy eyes. "I probably wouldn't have believed you, either," he said timidly but honestly. Harry opened his mouth, eager to say something supportive, but fell silent, giving Malfoy an understanding smile before slinking back, still uncomfortable, but rather at peace.

"What happened to George?" Malfoy found himself asking, still avoiding eye contact.

"He's fine," Ron admitted, leaning back with his own burst of tired upbringing. "He woke up before you did, actually, mate. And alright, too. Probably the most tip top of the whole lot of us." At the news, Draco's chest fell, relieved. He pulled himself up, feebly ignoring the pain that rushed through his body. However, he allowed himself to sit upright at the edge of his bed and slowly come to yank the tubes from his wrists with complete ambition. "Oy!" Ron called out, nervous despite appearing suspiciously cross, "what are you doing?"

"Getting up," Draco admitted. The very thought of staying put in that bed was unthinkable. He'd spent enough time laying down, truly desired nothing more than to get up, stretch his legs. Feeling the rather pleasing ache of his entire body, Draco added, "I'm fine." And then he said, as if trying to convince everyone else and himself as well, "I don't need to be here, really."

Harry lifted a brow from underneath his glasses, which had been taped in the middle after having been completely snapped in two. He said unconvinced, "Don't need to be here? Are you sure?" he asked, a bit doubtful.

"I'm one hundred percent positive," Malfoy said, approaching the mirror across from the bed. At one look at his face, he grimaced, reeving back. His eyes wide, he ignored the snickers of Ron, Harry, and Hermione. In the clear glass, Draco could see the cast that was wrapped around his leg and his arm, a rather large brace holding up his upper torso. Around his gray eyes, a brown bruise was puffy and swollen. His lip, busted open and large, gave him the look of a permanent pout. He yelped hoarsely before brushing his blond hair back nervously and turning away from his ghastly reflexion. He brought his free hand to his forehead, shutting his eyes wearily, "I think I'm through with hospitals for a long while."

"What?" Harry said again, feeling a bit more confident. Perhaps Malfoy had been someone new. He'd known more than most that people change more than anyone could expect. "The doctor says you'll have to see a physical therapist. You're not up for that?"Draco's face lost a significant amount of color. "Relax," Harry chuckled, extending a hand. He was surprised at how easy it was to let it fall on top of Draco's shoulder, patting it like the two hand been old friends. "I'm only joking." However, he leaned forward, lowering his voice to that of a distinct whisper, "but if we all get out of here quickly we won't be here when she tries to suggest it."

Ron's face broke out into a silly smile and Hermione's matched his rather sweetly. "Well, I've got to agree with Malfoy here," Ron said, pulling himself up. The four of them looked like a rather significant pair, all wrapped up in their bandages. "I don't think hospitals are the best thing for the whole lot of us at the moment. But, I do think we could all do for some butter beer. Hm. I've heard that alcohol is quite the pain medication."

Draco's face broke out into a smile of his own. He ignored the crack of his sore lips, quite amused to be able to feel anything at all that wasn't that of total despair. In fact, he was quite content with this moment, a feat he'd never thought he'd accomplish with the lot. "Alright, Weasel-Bee, Granger, _Potter. _However, I get the first glass. And the last, too, of course... and I'll understand if you split the cost between the lot of you, eh?"

And even Harry Potter couldn't help but smile.

* * *

**Vonne: **(:

Please review and let me know how you guys like/hated it. Were you happy with the ending? How'd you like this as a whole? I'd LOVE to hear your opinions- as I'm sure you all know. Thanks so much for being the best reviewers out there. I am so grateful for all of your feedback and all of you really kept me going to finishing this in the end! Thanks again, guys! It means more than you all know!


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